


Red Wires

by euncheols



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Past Lives, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Blood and Injury, Drinking, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8361547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euncheols/pseuds/euncheols
Summary: A thin, fragile red thread bound to snap at any second is what ties and connects Seungcheol to Jihoon. (Warnings in the shape of dreams are the ways Seungcheol’s past finds to prevent him from committing the same mistake of all of his previous lifetimes: losing Jihoon.)





	1. Saltwater Words

**Author's Note:**

> hello fellow chingudeuls, i'm eirin and i'm not exactly sure why i'm doing this.
> 
> last night i was about to put my gay ass to sleep and then i thought of this. angst isn't... really my cup of tea, in fact i kinda dislike it, but i'm also eager to write this? not to mention it's my first attempt in writing a multichaptered thing? i hope no one hates me too much......
> 
> still not dedicating because i'm insecure but immensely thanking miro, clara, vivi, lele, andreia and jeje. i'll write a super fluff once i'm done with this... thing, i promise. 
> 
> anyway i hope everyone can... enjoy it... somehow...? have fun!! ♡

 

 _Good night like yesterday_  
_As if nothing is wrong_  
_Instead of good bye, good night_  
_You might change your mind tomorrow_

 

 _Good bye just for one night,_  
_Everything will be okay_  
_It might not be the kind of goodbye_  
_People say when they’re_  
_Never seeing each other again_

   

 

 

The door slams, a few decorations from the shelf nearby topple and fall on the floor.

 

Seungcheol knows, as he picks the glass shards from one of their portraits that fell over, that they’re much better than that.

His and Jihoon’s relationship isn’t all about fights like this one, isn’t all about slammed doors, shattered portraits and bruised hearts. It’s about light teasing, carefree laughs and sweet words exchanged in the middle of the night.

They’re so much better than that and he _knows_ it. It’s his fault (too) – Seungcheol doesn’t even flinch when one of the pieces of the broken frame cuts his palm, once glass shards staining with red – somehow it feels fair, although it still isn’t even.

A sigh leave his lips once he stares at the now unframed photo. With care, he retreats it from the floor, making sure to take care of his hand in order not to stain it.

It’s a candid one, from their first official date as a couple. He went with a classic - a coffee shop date - and meant to do everything perfectly. Seungcheol vehemently insisted that pictures like those were cute, very couple-ish, like the helpless romantic he was. Jihoon was too flustered and tired to even think of arguing, thus ending up smiling bashfully in his pink sweater and freshly dyed blond hair as Seungcheol smiled brightly in his green jacket and raven hair, snapping the camera and revealing a small polaroid.

It was the first of the many pictures that they would take together, with a variation of smiles, clothes and hair colors. They argued, had little fights that would leave the other sulking and pouting on a corner of a room with a closed door between them. But in the end, everything would turn well, one of them deciding to let go of their pride in an attempt of an apology. Either Seungcheol would bury his nose in Jihoon’s messy hair, leaving a kiss in his temple whispering out a croaked “sorry” or Jihoon would repeat the same word in the same fashion muffled against Seungcheol’s shirt as he hugged him from behind.

So that’s why, when Seungcheol woke up and didn’t find messy hair tangled around the white sheets nor trace the smell of coffee intoxicating the entire apartment, he knew that this time was different.

 

No sweet gestures, no comfort words leaving trembling lips.

 

This time, Seungcheol knew that they messed it up really badly.

 

 

\--

 

 

_“I won’t be home tonight.”_

 

Seungcheol sighs, because what else can he do. He knows that they need some time to cool their anger off, knows that he’s only going to leave Jihoon angrier with him if he dares search over all of his friends’ houses in the middle of the evening to know where exactly he’s at.

Yet, it’s hard to fight the urge, to call him and ask him to come home. Because he doesn’t want to sleep another night like this - cold, alone, guilt washing over him. Making sure the volume is in its highest setting, Seungcheol locks his phone, leaving it by the bedside table in case there’s a beep in the middle of the night.

Everyone has bad habits - some of them worse than others. He knows this, as his fingers thread over his hair and he pulls a chair near the balcony. With shaking hands and a heavy heart, he retrieves a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. It’s toxic and it’s slowly killing him - he knows. Jihoon knows too, when he told Seungcheol to drop it. Then Seungcheol said he’d try to do it if Jihoon got rid of the liquor hidden on the lower shelf of their kitchen cupboard. Neither spoke of the other’s bad habits ever since.

Jeonghan isn’t a bad friend, not really - he has genuine good intentions when he takes Jihoon out for drinks when the latter and Seungcheol are on bad terms. All of their friends know that one of the few things Jihoon doesn’t excel at is holding his liquor - leaving a distraught and worried Seungcheol on the end of the line as Jihoon cries his heart out in his intoxicated state.

It’s awful of him to expect something like that, yet Seungcheol is ready to stand up at any second and run over to Jihoon’s side if he so ends up needing it. Because Seungcheol knows Jihoon would never willingly call on the crack of the evening, voice swaying with dizziness and sadness, asking for the older to  _please_  pick him up and take him home -  _their_  home.

Smoke leaves his lips as his lungs burn, his throat scorching, begging Seungcheol to stop. He doesn’t, because that’s his cowardly way of coping with his mistakes, punishing his voice and his chapped lips from opening up at the wrong time, for talking before thinking. For saying what he should have never said, for insisting on a problem he could have solved and maybe then, if he had the decency of pondering his words first, he wouldn’t be like this - crying alone over remains of nicotine.

 

Eventually, when it nears four in the morning, he decides that he could use some sleep.

It’s not a decision he takes pleasantly or willingly – his body just simply can’t remain awake. Jihoon’s phone is turned off - he tried, even if his mind said no, but oh what a surprise, he should have known the younger wouldn’t have wanted to talk to him either way. Unable to find out who he’s with ( _if_ he’s with anyone), Seungcheol runs out of his options and takes the only one he’s able to accomplish with his bleary eyes and sore muscles - sleep.

Once he lies down, he can feel tiredness coursing to every inch of his body, yet he can’t bring himself to effectively fall asleep. Instead, as the first rays of the morning begin to climb over his bedroom’s window, he finds himself looking at all of their photos saved on his phone.

Each one of them brings out a sweet memory that makes him smile.

One of his favorites is also from when they started dating - more specifically, when they celebrate six months in their relationship. Jihoon thinks Seungcheol is exaggerating - with that being his third relationship and the first that actually managed to last the mark of six months, the younger, now in lavender hair, is unsure whether couples are really supposed to celebrate out monthiversaries instead of anniversaries. Seungcheol, still in his black hair (although constantly pondering to shift the color), didn’t even think before answering that they absolutely needed to go out and celebrate. More than that, he tells Jihoon that every day with him was a motive of a celebration on its own. Both look away in order to uselessly hide a faint blush from the other.

It was sweet, the two of them laid down side by side on the grass as they mapped out constellations. At least Seungcheol tried to, holding the other’s arm in the direction he thought it was right, all because Jihoon didn’t have the heart back then to tell the older that the one arrangement of stars he was pointing to wasn't really the Ursa Major. Even with slight astronomical mistakes, it was a nice, fun night, ending with Jihoon tiptoeing his way to Seungcheol’s lips in a brave gesture of gratitude, sealing their first kiss.

Seungcheol would feel his mouth numb for days, until he had the courage to place his hands in Jihoon’s hips and kiss him again.

 

His last thought before falling into deep slumber was to take Jihoon there again once they’re in better terms.

If they ever manage to.

 

 

\--

 

 

The first dream comes just like their current situation - unannounced and heartbreaking.

 

Seungcheol can hear the sound of the waves crashing down, he can feel saltiness in his lips and the scorching rays of sun burning his skin.

These days he stares much longer at the vastness that is the sea - briefly, he finds himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, the fall won’t hurt too much, the water will be cold, hot sweat won’t be trilling down his spine, his clothes won’t feel so suffocating--

“Captain. Focus.”

He’s the captain and sometimes it’s difficult to remind himself of that very fact. What would his crew think of him with so little will to fight? History would paint him as a pathetic figure, an incompetent captain, a failure as a leader and maybe then, the king would finally have an actual reason for spitting curses at him, buried under the sea.

Seungcheol adjusts his hat and walks away from the rudder, boots clacking against the dirty wooden floor.

It’s an expedition to a land they don’t know yet, a blur of land on their worn-out map. Tempest, his crew, is finally beginning to receive the recognition they deserve and the king is slowly allowing them to take missions that demand more of them - which Seungcheol is eager to comply. The land is unnamed yet, but the mission is clear: extract natural resources and report everything to the royal council.

Mingyu whines next to him as he mops the floor, “Why does it have to be so far away?”

Settling with only patting his head, Seungcheol walks away from the confused sailor to stare back again at the sea. Indeed, with his prestige rising, the tasks become more difficult and if Hansol hadn’t been diligently taking notes of their voyage, orientating himself through the sunlight and the stars, Seungcheol would have long lost himself over the endless sea.

All they see is water and rocks, rocks and water. Their supplies are quickly thinning, with every sundown the number of sick people rises and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do if they don’t find land in at least a week. Seungcheol has been doing his best, but his best hasn’t been enough to protect his crew, thoughts of failure clouding his better judgment.

The colors of the sky begin to fade, full darkness swaying their modest vessel. Once they’re back, with the reward the king is supposed to hand him, Seungcheol has promised himself to invest in a better ship, although he is surely going to miss his so-called “baby” by the name of Younghee. The rest of the crew thinks it’s silly, but they wouldn’t dare spit the words at him - after all, he’s captain. He’s supposed to know what to do.

 

It’s getting colder and he knows that he should be preparing to sleep soon, but he can’t face going downstairs and bask in the hopeless and tired eyes of his companions. He tells Wonwoo that he can go to sleep, he can manage the rudder until the sunrise. His tired eyes want to disagree, but he nods, taking his way to the lower part of the ship so he can bury himself under thin sheets in protection of the harsh wind for the rest of the night.

Seungcheol likes it like this, the wind hitting his face and swaying his hair, hat long forgotten. In moments such as this one, isolated from the rest of them, he allows himself to shed tears just as salty as the seawater, broken sobs escaping in a hoarse voice. There’s a rational part of him saying that he should save himself the trouble - along with the days, Seungcheol has too forgotten the last time he drank decent water, one that didn’t taste more like salt than actual water. However, his heart speaks louder and all he wants to do is cry, which he doesn’t fight much to stop himself.

 

_“Don’t cry - you look so much better when you’re smiling.”_

 

Halting his weep, Seungcheol’s head whip around searching the source of the words he just heard. It’s impossible. No one in the ship has a voice like this - sweet, melodic and kind. It must be his imagination. Back at his country, he heard someone saying how seawater was prejudicial for the health, bound to induce hallucinations - likely Shiah, one of the healers that lived in the forest behind his village. He sighs when he doesn’t spot anyone in sight - it really must be his imagination taking the best of him.

“How sad, handsome but stupid.”

This can’t be. Seungcheol didn’t even notice when his vessel traveled so close to a skerry, almost hitting against the rocks. The voice laughs - light and easy - and finally a person takes form before his eyes - sitting by one of the rocks, he wonders if he’s seeing a mirage. He sees the most beautiful figure of his entire existence. Messy brown hair, soft skin, dark twinkling eyes and small lips compose the boy in front of him, said lips curling into an inviting smile.

“W-Who are you?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?” the voice indeed has a trace of acidness as he spats his words, but that doesn’t make him any less charming, “You’re under the grounds of my island.”

Seungcheol frowns, but soon understands the situation. He blinks and suddenly there’s a trail of sand he didn’t notice before.

“Oh.”

“I’m Jihoon and you’re invading my island,” he sighs, running perfectly sculptured hands against his hair and the captain can hear the hitch of his breath dying on the back of his throat. “Listen…”

“Seungcheol,” he blurts out, “Seungcheol of the Southern Islands, Captain of Tempest.”

“Alright, Seungcheol then,” Jihoon’s sentence ends with a breathy laugh and the way his name sounds leaving soft lips makes Seungcheol's head spin and his heart leap, he doesn’t understand why he’s feeling that way - but he likes it and he wants to hear more of it. “I need your help with something if you want to stop by for the night.”

“Everything you want me to,” the words leave just like that and he can’t find the strength in him to say anything else.

“Eager to please, I see,” Jihoon smiles, radiantly, brighter than the silver moonlight gleam shimmering above them, “You’re too far, I need you to come closer to me first.”

Almost tripping in his feet, Seungcheol hurries to comply, lowering himself on the rocks with utmost care. Soon enough he finds himself right by Jihoon’s side and oh God, he looks even more enchanting up close - skin even softer looking and the lingering smell of grass and sea - he feels himself longing for more.

“Can you lower me down to the beach?” Jihoon asks, softly, “I’m hurt.”

With flushed cheeks for being this indiscreet and indecent altogether, Seungcheol dares to look down and he feels his eyes blur at the sight - there are patches of red and purple and he mentally curses who or what  _dared_  to hurt such a precious person like Jihoon, his senses tingling to avenge whatever caused damage to him--

A docile laughter calms him down instantly. “It’ll be fine. Just take me there,  _please_.”

How is he supposed to deny such a request? Jihoon wraps his arms around Seungcheol and the contact of skin against skin burns, but unlike the scorching midday sun, this isn’t a bad kind of burn - it set his heart aflame and he needs more of this touch, needs it all over him.

They’re at the beach now, Seungcheol can feel his arms covered with sand but he can’t exactly feel his feet touching anything. Jihoon smiles again, even brighter, whispering a “thank you”. However, his arms don’t leave their place around his neck and Seungcheol wonders if that’s an invitation to stay. He wants to say yes.

“You can settle things by the morning,” Jihoon says and he finds himself humming, “For now, won’t you stay with me? I’ll sing for you.”

Seungcheol beams. If his voice is melodious while he speaks then he can’t even imagine how beautiful it could sound like if he sings. As if reading his thoughts, Jihoon begins to sing and Seungcheol is left gasping for air. His voice is sweet, velvety, kind and above all,  _alluring_. It fills his head with cotton, it outright  _seduces_  him with every little note that escapes his lips.

He doesn’t know when they got  _this_  close to each other, but Jihoon is running his fingers softly against Seungcheol’s cheeks and he melts completely at the touch, barely feeling his legs anymore, as if the sand before their feet is actually quicksand, drowning him slowly.

Drowning.

There’s a silence and then it hits him - Jihoon is kissing him, lips moving smoothly against his and it’s probably the best sensation he’s ever felt.

They part ways, panting for air and Jihoon smiles at him before pressing a peck over now swollen lips.

 

“Goodnight, Seungcheol.”

 

Just like that, all warmth is gone and replaced by cold, shivering cold. Rough hands pressed against his neck, nails scratching his throat. He tries to breathe but all he can feel is water around him, imprisoning him in steel that tastes like blood.

 

He sees a faint light before everything turns to black.

 


	2. O'Clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clock keeps ticking - the thread going thinner with the hours, memories flowing back with the minutes and Seungcheol's apprehensiveness growing with the seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew!! i never thought i'd see myself posting another chapter of this!! truth is, i considered a lot deleting this story, i was (am) just instatisfied with the way it has been turning out....? ok whatever i'm posting this anyway so here's it!! i know this beginning is kinda boring (?) but i hope y'all can enjoy it.....!! 
> 
> (also thank you to everyone who sent me nice messages about this, especially on twitter!! i hope i haven't disappointed you;;;)

 

 

_Just like yesterday, I’m dreaming the same dream today_

_Just in case I’ll be able to see you_

_I continuously look for you, I’m endlessly wandering around_

_Oh no baby_

 

_There’s nothing, I look for you crazily_

_I’m worn out from wandering around lost all night,_

_I’m about to collapse_

_I want to give up, I turn around_

_Just then, you appear_

 

 

 

_“Goodnight, Seungcheol.”_

 

Reversely to the words he last heard in his slumber, Seungcheol jolts awake, chest heaving rapidly in shorts gasps, with body dripping in a cold sweat.

It’s a dream, he tells himself, all a dream - even as he grips the sheets with all of his strength, fabric crumbling under the weight of his hands. He pushes his legs closer to his body and lets go of the cloth just to make sure they’re that, that they’re feeling the mattress under his feet.

The relief that courses to him when he realizes that yes, he’s in his room and not under the darkness of the sea. He feels goosebumps cursing all over his skin, sweat glistening it under the weak sunrays seeping lazily through the curtains.

Even though he feels the coldness from the apartment’s wooden floor once he straightens himself in a sitting position on the end of the bed, Seungcheol still can’t shake away the bad feeling that keeps lingering on the back of his head. He remembers it so vividly - the way Jihoon’s eyes shone staring directly to his, the way his fingers rummaged through his face with so much ease, the way his voice sounded so docile and so enticing, an almost perfect replica of his reality. However, he also remembered the coldness, the scratches in his skin, the blood and air leaving his lungs as he fell deeper and deeper on the ocean.

He remembers the scales, owning a holographic effect under the moonlight and Seungcheol shivered at the very memory - his Jihoon isn’t like that.

Perhaps by now, _his_ isn’t exactly the most adequate word to refer to him.

Fear cast aside, Seungcheol scrambles to reach to the bedside table in an attempt to grasp for his phone, almost sliding out of his hands as he did so. His utmost fears were confirmed then - no notification or message displayed.

Receiving a word would have made him feel a lot less guilty - it’s easier to settle down knowing that Jihoon is doing well, that someone is taking care of him. Even then, his foot keeps stomping impatiently on the floor, nervousness taking over him in an instant.

Seungcheol attempts for a couple more messages (and his face falls even more, as if it was a possible feature, upon noticing that no, Jihoon hasn’t even read them yet) and a few calls, just to know that he’s alright, he’s somewhere safe. Jihoon could leave him for however long he wishes, as long as he made sure that he was okay. More than anything, Seungcheol prioritized his lover’s wellbeing.

 

It isn’t the time, to reminisce like that, but Seungcheol remembers well. In the three years of their relationship, perhaps the most remarkable argument, the current one cast aside, is their first. Their first fight as a couple, their first discussion.

Ever since they met, Seungcheol could tell that Jihoon was hardworking. Maybe one of the reasons that made the older fall for him was because of those restless eyes that continued to read even though his body was slumping in tiredness. Jihoon was stubborn, just like himself - if he had something in mind to do, nothing would stop him.

It was something to be amazed, to see someone giving all of themselves onto their passions as Jihoon did. Everything he did wouldn’t be complete without reaching the closest thing to perfection - because nothing to Jihoon would ever be entirely perfect, even if everyone else disagreed with his excessiveness and strictness with everything.

When it came to love, it was no different. Exhibitions of affection weren’t Jihoon’s strongest features - he has always been an introverted individual, albeit a little shy - but he tried his best when it came to Seungcheol. It was difficult to reciprocate the excessive hugs Seungcheol would like to shower him with, the butterfly kisses in his neck when he least expected it, but the older appreciated his effort. Small touches and timid cheek kisses were the pleasantries Jihoon felt comfortable in giving in, which made Seungcheol feel like he was the happiest man in the entire world.

Even then, Jihoon was insistently exigent with his work, often abdicating of his free time to spend locked in his room studying. Studying for his music major to academic purposes, Seungcheol would often find the younger sleeping under thin score sheets and thick theory books, glasses slipping out of the bridge of his nose as he laid his head uncomfortably on the table. He would carry the younger to his (his, because they didn’t have their shared bed back then) bunk bed and would let him curl himself in his weird manner over the sheets, lips slightly parting as he drifted away from the world in his sleep.

Waking the morning after to know that Seungcheol purposely didn’t wake him up - making him run late for some of his classes surely knew how to piss him off. Truthfully, Seungcheol knew that Jihoon needed to be awake at least twenty good minutes before leaving, his sleepy state leaving him to move slower, bare feet padding across the rooms of the apartment in a dragging motion and he took tiny sips of his coffee. However, Seungcheol was too soft to disturb him from his slumbering state, leaving without daring himself to wake him up, placing a kiss in his cheek before reluctantly closing the door. 

Jihoon should have been used to the way Seungcheol would spoil him - it was admittedly sweet, until it got on the way of his work. As they got closer, the older noticed that nothing would take out his patience more than slipping out of his agenda, as boring as it could sound. It stressed him, knowing that he hasn’t been following things the way it should.

Their problem is that they care too much and too little, in different instances. For example, Jihoon cares too much about work and too little about himself. With Seungcheol, it’s the direct opposite - caring too much about Jihoon and too little about work. They’re all good intentions - yet the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Seungcheol had a bad habit of letting good intentions blind his sight from what was important. A missed class leads to an irritated Jihoon, leading to words they didn’t mean to exchanged and officializing their first fight.

He remembers, clear as day, that the evening they fought wasn’t as clear. It was raining, both of them pouring, shouts echoing mean words as loud as the heavy rain outside. It was true, they never meant none of them, but that single thought didn’t stop them from spitting all the insecurities they held about the other. A conjecture of bad emotions hazing their eyes along with tears of an infinity of reasons - sadness, anger, distress and love.

 

What snaps Seungcheol out of his memories is a loud ding from his phone, risking itself of falling under his sweaty and apprehensive hands.

 

_“It’s Soonyoung! Jihoon is crashing here for today. I’ll tell him to call you later! Take care!”_

 

How great.

Seungcheol would never admit it, even if the feeling would consume him inside out like dangerous flames, but he was oh so very jealous of Soonyoung.

He didn’t like it, the weird feeling of pure and misleading selfishness that would make him huff and puff every little two seconds at the mere mention of a name. They were friends, for Heaven’s sake. More than a friend, Soonyoung was a precious and trustworthy company ever since they met, constantly being kind for both him and Jihoon. He adored him, truly. Yet, petty as it sounded, there still was something that would tick him off whenever Soonyoung became a preferred option than him. 

Everyone knew all too well how Jihoon was a little wary of touching, cringed when someone would hug him without warning, his expression contorting itself into eyes pressed together and mouth into a straight rendition of a smile, showcasing utmost discomfort. It took a few months for Seungcheol to be able to slide his arm across Jihoon’s shoulders to pull him closer without the latter looking like he’d want to drop dead there and then. With Soonyoung though, he wouldn’t even try to free himself from his overly-tight hugs or the ceremoniously pinching of his cheeks.

It was only rational that Jihoon would be a lot more at ease in Soonyoung’s presence. Being friends ever since birth, it was only to be expected that Jihoon wouldn’t even spare a glance when the figure of messy hair dyed into a metallic blue that was beginning to fade would step into the borders of his personal space without warning. It took all of Seungcheol to tell himself that no, that’s okay, he’s too like that with his friends.

Even then, telling a lie to himself was something. Living through attempts of forgetting such a feeling was different. Another one of their fights was because of that - jealousy. When Seungcheol was jealous, he’d scoot until the near end of the sofa with folded arms and a pout. Jihoon would then call him a baby for all of his whining, and particularly, he wouldn’t disagree. It was truly childish - but it was a natural feeling at the same time, that would leave his eyebrows furrowed and his skin tingling for what he needed the most: attention.

 

“You’re jealous,” Jihoon commented with easiness, recognizing the clear signs that the other was upset once he sat down on the sofa and glanced at a mop of dirty blonde hair trying to look away.

Seungcheol would then miserably attempt hide his embarrassed and upset look hugging his legs near his body. He really hated himself for letting the words out, “These days you’re always paying attention to him.”

“Am I really?”

“Yes…” in a whisper, “You keep forgetting about me.”

Jihoon closes his book with a thud, the noise getting Seungcheol’s attention as he placed it by the small coffee table before sitting closer to Seungcheol, a mere breath of distance between them.

“Would I do this with him?” Jihoon asked while leaning in and pressing a quick peck on his lips.

“Hopefully not,” was his flushed reply at the surprising gesture initiated from the younger.

“Good,” with a sigh, Jihoon cupped Seungcheol’s face and finally force him to look directly into his eyes, action that didn’t demand much of him since the latter would so easily comply. “I’m with you, okay? There’s no need to feel jealous all the time. I’d be telling you if I wanted to drop your sorry ass for someone else.”

They’d laugh shortly about it before Jihoon would look at him with a timid smile, “If I’m here it’s because… Because I love you. And not someone else. We’re clear?”

Seungcheol nodded eagerly, because those three words were able to chase away all of his mixed feelings in an instant. With newfound happiness in his heart, we would hug Jihoon until the younger would yell at him for using so much strength, demanding to let him go.

Jihoon sighed tiredly, failing at feigning annoyment as a smile began to slip out of his lips, “You’re too high maintenance.”

“But I’m worth the trouble, right?” Seungcheol would then ask him with puppy eyes and pout, some of Jihoon’s main weaknesses.

“Yes, you are,” Jihoon said while leaning against the older’s chest, much to his happiness, “Just don’t act like you’re the only victim here.”

It took a few minutes losing himself in Jihoon’s exasperated expression and small pout for him to understand it. The younger often complained about Seungcheol’s denseness, how he was quick to flirt with people at the same time he was too slow to realize someone else’s advances on him.

Jihoon would never say it, until they had to reconcile from a particularly bad discussion. He too felt a stinging feeling, in his case, happening whenever Seungcheol would end up being too clingy with someone else. Friends like Jeonghan and Jisoo would constantly reprimand the older for latching onto them so much. Even if Jihoon knew that’s all they were, friends, he still couldn’t help but feel a weird tingling sensation bothering him on the back of his neck. It was reversely comical - feeling annoyed when it happened to him but buffing in reclused frustration when it happened to another person. They were so different, and yet so alike.

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol leaned lower to whisper in his ear, hugging him closer, “You do know that I only have eyes for you.”

“Good.”

Seungcheol looked at him worriedly once silence reigned in the room, “Now you’re angry.”

“No,” Jihoon scanned his face and laughed at his expression. He often told Seungcheol how weirdly cute he looked when he was worried, hair falling over his furrowed brows and eyes wide open, “Unlike _some_ of us, I’m not a baby.”

The older would protest with a loud whine, much to Jihoon’s amusement, leaning to poke his left cheek, puffed in yet another display of childishness. “See? Such a baby.”

“Your one and only.”

“You’re gross.”

“Worth the trouble though?”

“You know it.”

With smiles, they’d spend the rest of their day like this - falling asleep exaggeratedly close to each other, in a way that should be too close for comfort, yet in the end, being in each other’s arms was the most comfortable way they could get.

 

The ticking of the clock accompanied by the alarm of the phone announcing another wasted hour interrupts his thoughts, vanishing with his reverie and submerging Seungcheol in his lonely reality. Unlike his pleasant memories, all he saw before him was an empty apartment and all he felt was a frigid sensation resulting from a lack of touch.

 

It was three o’clock when Seungcheol sadly wondered over fresh tears if Jihoon thought he was still worth the trouble. 

 

\--

 

The second dream comes in just like that - as heavy as the bell that resonates through the city.

 

They’re running, like it’s the only thing they have to do, the only thing they know how to do.

It’s hard to tell when they began living like this - running together until the end.

At first, it was only Seungcheol. God knew the things he had went through - who could have imagined such a spoiled young man would become a hired assassin seeking for revenge. For one, he could have never guessed his fate, of watching sheer injustice unfolding through his own eyes. Nevertheless, what’s done is done, so he pulls the hood of his black cloak closer to his eyes and gets own with what he has to do.

And right now, at this very moment, what he needs to do is to run, as fast as his legs could.

 

Upon finding shelter under a cart filled with hay, they allow themselves to stop for a moment, stabilizing with difficulty their heavy breathings, they pause to look at each other’s eyes for a moment as equally heavy steps, clicking with the sound of heels, run past their temporary refuge.

Amidst all of the bad things that happened in Seungcheol’s life, to be able to stare at fiery eyes that manage to remain so bright even through all adversities, it’s the best thing that has ever happened - to have met Jihoon.

It wasn’t a pretty meeting - if they still were under the fancy terms they’ve known before, maybe they’d met each other through an important social event for the aristocracy or something of the kind. It’s not pretty, meeting the love of your life with clothes and skin stained from the blood of the common enemies you’ve just executed. Even if it wasn’t pretty, Seungcheol could safely tell that it was something as good as that.

Seungcheol used to be alone, drowning himself in his plans of revenge for his family. Jihoon wasn’t much different, with a story that was more alike his that he would admit. Maybe that’s why the two clicked so fast. They were so different, and yet so alike.

 

Joining the assassin’s order was difficult at first. Maybe because Seungcheol only knew about himself, he was the protagonist and the coadjuvant of his story. Meeting Jihoon though makes him expands his horizons - the sun doesn’t orbit around him and maybe that’s the most valuable lesson he’s ever learnt.

The sun orbits around Jihoon, orbits around the thousands of others prejudiced by people against their cause, orbits around the order. They’re not exactly good, but they’re not evil either. Life only allows them to be like this, and while it’s not ideal, it’s what they do. It’s what they know to do.

Seungcheol sees the whole world and all of the things in it when he stares at Jihoon like this, slipping his hand under the hay to lace his fingers together with Jihoon’s.

They never really spoke about these feelings, the need to hold hands in times like these. It’s hard to tell what the younger would think of him if he knew the depths of his heart like this. Jihoon tells him, that Seungcheol knows nothing about timing, knows nothing about being discreet - yet he doesn’t retract when his hands fall under the gentle ambush of trapping their fingers together. Seungcheol deems that as a good sign.

Checking to see if it’s safe to leave, they both slip out inconspicuously from the cart, strolling around the streets as if they haven’t been on the run a minute ago.

Their previous mission had been a success - stealing documents from the juridic department of the royal council. Maybe it would have gone better if they didn’t attract one of the guards attention (and oh if he just wouldn’t hear an earful from Jihoon about that amidst cheap beer once they were done with their report), yet even then, what mattered was the outcome in the end - positive and with few deaths.

Wrapping up the day, they find themselves on their way to the establishment by the end of the road, one of the many places with a sense of a secret that they could refer to something alike to headquarters. In reality, the place is close to a cabaret, title inexistent due a lack of fanciness attached to it. As much as attention is unwanted, indeed the place allows them to blend with the crowd. Stealth at its finest.

“I’ll take that,” says a familiar voice to the both of them, easily stealing (technically, at least) the documents they just got.

Hyunjung is responsible of managing many things around the organization. The elegant woman of long black hair in front of them with a dress in a soft shade of red was, behind all of her poise, deadly, a force to be reckoned with. To the eyes of the society, a countess heir to an important fabric industry. To the eyes of the underground, a commandant of the assassins’ first order.

“I have something that might be of your best interest, Jihoon-ah,” she slides folded papers over the table, “Soonyoung got a reliable source to your case. Think of it as a retribution for all of your hard work.”

Seungcheol doesn’t exactly understand what is going on, but he can feel his feet steel to the ground when Jihoon’s eyes become sharper, knife-like, much similar from the fiery and cutting gaze of their first meeting.

“It’s him,” is all he says before storming out of the place. Seungcheol is already on his heels, sparing one last glance to a serious looking Hyunjung before taking his leave.

Before Seungcheol can even ask, Jihoon is shoving the paper on his face. There’s a face, one that he doesn’t recall ever seeing before - yet the younger’s reaction explains everything he doesn’t know well aside from short drunken slips and gritted teeth from moments of anger.

 

Everyone that has ever joined the order has a mortal enemy. Jihoon just found out where his is.

 

They’re running - it’s the only thing they know how to do. But this time Jihoon is running faster and Seungcheol can’t keep up with him. He’s distant, far away, and it’s hard to tell if the meaning lies on the literal or metaphorical sense. Seungcheol decides that it lies on both.

Cold-blooded, rational, ruthless - that’s what they’re supposed to be. They’re assassins, trained to deal with emotions of the highest force. Even then, Jihoon crumbles at the sight of seeing his hatred person and Seungcheol crumbles at the sight of seeing his beloved person falling apart before his eyes.

“I’ll be after him.”

“Like this? Jihoon, you’re not thinking straight.”

He hesitates as soon as the words leave his lips. It’s not time yet. But if it isn’t now, when will it be?

As if he could read his thoughts, Jihoon answers for him, “Don’t. I’ll do what I have to do, Seungcheol. I’ve told you once. That I would leave whenever I found this bastard alive again. And that day is today.”

Seungcheol feels the weight of his blade heavy on his arm. It makes him think that maybe everything could have been different, if they weren’t of the order, if they were under other circumstances--

“Stop. You’re only hurting yourself,” Jihoon sighs, “You’re hurting me too.”

“It’s because I care,” is what he settles with in a moment of frailty, words leaving meekly. God damn it.

“You always do,” the younger pulls his white hoodie over his face and inches close enough just to grab Seungcheol’s hand again. The feeling is cold, so different from the gentle warm through calloused hands he was used to. Even then, the older finds in him wanting more.

There’s a tiny trace of a smile, “I’ll see you.”

Seungcheol barely has the time to react - when he least expects, Jihoon is already out of his line of sight. Maybe he’s always been, he thinks. Maybe he said the wrong words at the wrong time. Or maybe he didn't - and that's what hurts him the most. The possibility of words changing everything around him.

 

What he knows is that he’s not seeing Jihoon again. In that moment, all Seungcheol could think of is that not all tragedies have to do with death.

 

It was three o’clock when Jihoon walked away from Seungcheol’s life, leaving his heart in shambles once again as he crumbled out of sheer weakness.


	3. Underneath the Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The red thread stays intact during spring, it begins to get worn out during summer, it stays steps from snapping during autumn and it might not survive until winter comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STAN TALENT STAN LEGENDS STAN BTOB BUY NEW MEN ON ITUNES [SHOUTING EMOJI]
> 
> can you believe these KINGS did that? anyways, here's to another chapter!! once again i'd like to thank everyone that has been encouraging me to keep going with this, even though i received a feeeew complaints of sadness!! well oops!!
> 
> jokes aside, i hope y'all can enjoy it!! ♡

 

 

 

_On a day with a beautiful sunset,_

_You shyly came to me_

_As if the wind was passing, you whispered,_

_Everyday, let’s be together_

 

_I look up at the sky and_

_It’s just like that day, I think of you_

_In these changing times,_

_You and I are growing more distant like this_

 

_Though I live endlessly in memories,_

_We can’t be together tomorrow_

 

 

These days things find themselves coming to an end fairly quickly.

 

For example: the end of the season, with leaves falling progressively faster with the arrival of autumn. The end of the week, that is already a day to begin on its normal course, work to be done here and there from Monday on.

 

What Seungcheol doesn’t quite expect to end is the way Jihoon smiles at him when they greet each other.

 

Jihoon had a wide variety of smiles, something Seungcheol suspected only he knew alone. There were the smiles that would make his eyes crinkle in happiness, the ones that would make his nose scrunch cutely, the ones that would make his ears redden in bashfulness and the ones that would make his lungs go out of air.

Seungcheol’s favorite though, had to be the one that would steal Jihoon’s serious or bored look as he waited for the older to arrive for whatever reason. Although he knew  it was slightly narcissistic of him, Seungcheol thought it was sweet too, to see the way Jihoon’s expression completely shifted because of him and the older always make sure to mirror and reflect it on a brighter form, to show how much seeing him managed to warm his heart inside out. Jihoon seemed to notice his effort.

 

Everything he sees in the younger now though lacks of happiness, face falling upon his sight like the leaves descending from the trees. Seeing Jihoon gazing at him like that, as if he didn’t want to see him, is what tugs at his heart the most, wondering when did they drift so far apart from each other that they can’t bare to exchange looks without an expression painted in shades of hurt and a canvas of sadness.

His initial intention was to go out for a walk, after waking up of a strange dream with swollen eyes and a sensation of emptiness in his chest. He managed to sleep until early dawn, ever since falling asleep at night from tiredness of lamenting all afternoon. All Seungcheol could absorb from his dream was regret, leaving him to wonder if his dreams won’t forgive him either.

Unlike Soonyoung’s promise, Jihoon didn’t contact him, instead leaving a worried Seungcheol pacing around the house as he got a complaint from his neighbour downstairs for moving around so much and a complaint from his lungs for dwelling in smoke much more than the usual. What finally settled him down was a hurried call from Seokmin, saying everything was alright, without much details, only stating that Jihoon really didn’t want to see him that day either.

If he doubted of that at the time, now he’s positive that it wasn’t an exaggeration - Jihoon does looks like he doesn’t want to see him today or any other day for that matter, eyes wandering to anywhere but his, sneakers shuffling against the fallen and dry leaves, specs of dirt coloring the once pristine surface.

 

“Hi,” it’s what Seungcheol says and the monosyllable felt plastic, sounding almost wrong as they left his lips awkwardly, like if they were meeting for the first time.

“Hey,” Jihoon says, parroting the distant tone, almost sounding as if they didn’t know each other.

 

No matter how much time passes, it’ll always surprise Seungcheol how Jihoon is able to look good in every circumstance, even with bags under his eyes darker than the usual, to the point he feels embarrassed of his own looks. Seungcheol, currently sporting a dirty blonde hair, went out just with black pants and a gray hoodie with a generic stamp printed on it, the clothes pairing themselves in a manner that almost feels uniformed out of the many times he wore it. Jihoon too wore something of the like, ripped dark jeans and a black sweater he hasn’t seen in so long, hair dyed in a chocolate tone that suited him perfectly. Even with similar styles, it was obvious who managed to look better between them. Handsome wouldn’t do him justice - Jihoon was really something else, from the outside to the inside.

 

“We need to talk,” he says, accidentally preventing Jihoon from saying what he was about to tell, mouth closing as Seungcheol’s tone echoed over the gap between them.

“We do,” Jihoon mutters, “Do you think we could…?”

“Sit down?” the older watches as he nods and there’s a part of him that lingers a bit over the thought of completing each other sentences, a habit of theirs for when Seungcheol says too much and Jihoon says too little. For some reason though, it doesn’t feel right with the moment. “Did you have breakfast yet?”

He doesn’t necessarily waits for an answer because Jihoon’s expression shifting for a second is enough to tell him that. Under normal circumstances, Seungcheol would lean against Jihoon’s shoulders and whisper that he should take better care of himself, before taking his hand and leading him to the cafe down the street they frequent, making sure to get something to eat and stopping Jihoon from ordering just black coffee.

Yet, he had to remind himself that these weren’t normal circumstances. He meant to take Jihoon’s hand, but seeing the younger shying away from the contact the moment he stepped a little closer under his zone of comfort was enough of a warning to tell Seungcheol not to, that this isn’t the time, sending a stinging pain to his chest.

 

They do visit the café anyway. It’s closer to where they currently are and the walk seems as familiar as always, the colored bricks from distinct patches of the sidewalk bringing a little of liveliness to their mute walk. Seungcheol remembers one of the first times when their walks to the café were still somewhat awkward, although back then, it was the kind of awkwardness that would make him feel butterflies in his stomach out of happiness and something more. If anything, the butterflies felt more like moths rounding his head like a storm.

Finding their ( _their_ , everything has a little piece of Jihoon in his memory) usual table at the near end of the tables positioned near the table, allowing the outside view, they followed the too usual routine of their visits to the place - Jihoon waiting as Seungcheol got their orders.

Immediately he was greeted by a bright hello from one of the baristas - Chan, who always seemed eager to help even though it was too early on a Sunday morning to do so. Seungcheol offered a small smile of his own as he asked for the usual - one black coffee, one extra-sugary frappuccino and two plates of toasts - before waving a hello to Seungkwan and Hansol, other two baristas of the place who were currently working with other orders.

Shifting to the side so Chan could handle the next client, Seungcheol could easily feel Seungkwan’s judging glare sent on his general direction before he walked over to him, a coffee in hands.

 

“Hyung looks frustrated and you look miserable,” the young barista comments, putting a show of his observation skills, direct to the point as always, “Big fight?”

A nod, “Maybe the worst.”

“What happened?” if there was a trace of a joking tone earlier, now all he can sense from Seungkwan is genuine worry, something that makes Seungcheol feel bad about, “Are you guys going to be alright?”

Seungcheol watches Hansol settling the rest of the order on the tray, before shrugging at the confused younger ones, “I hope so.”

 

Once he settles the things on the table, they eat quietly, without a word exchanged, unlike their usual calm conversations, stifled laughter shared amidst buttery toast and drinks opposed in taste. It’s nothing short of weird and all Seungcheol wants to is to vanish in thin air, at the same times he just wants to spend a little longer of time with Jihoon.

It shouldn’t be this hard to tell what’s going on in Jihoon’s head, but the inevitability lies on the fact that it is - their eyes keep missing each other on the very few moments both of them aren’t looking directly down to their plates. No meal has ever felt this uncomfortable - Seungcheol is quite sure he can feel the worried stares from the young baristas and fellow customers, as if the tension surrounding them was solid, alive.

Seungcheol used to be good at breaking those, all smiles and silly talks, but the wall between Jihoon and him seems thicker than ever.

 

“Well... How are you?”

“Could’ve been better,” he says before looking at the older briefly, almost as if he regrets his answer, before lowering his tone next, “I’m fine.”

“I get that you’re upset,” Seungcheol sighs quietly, “I’m sorry about that, I really am. But you could’ve at least said you weren’t going to be home.”

The last word seems to burn and sting in both of them, if Jihoon’s slight, but sure flinch is of any indication. It sounds so different from the usual and Seungcheol wants to cry.

“I’m sorry.”

“Will you come back today?” it’s a sadly hopeful statement.

“Not today,” Jihoon’s voice is trailing, “Not yet.”

“That’s…” _okay_ isn’t the word Seungcheol is exactly looking for, “It doesn’t have to be like this. Don’t you think we should talk it out first?”

“I thought that was the whole point of this,” he gestures to the table, “Does that seem to be working to you?”

A huff, “You’re not helping.”

“Neither are you.”

“At least I’m trying to.”

“See, this is why-” Jihoon sighs, a small breath, and Seungcheol feels like that one puff had all of the air in his lungs, “This is why we need some time apart from each other.”

 

They lock eyes and all Seungcheol can see is hurt. It’s all he can feel too.

 

“You and I,” the younger curls his fingers tighter on his mug, “We’ve been through a lot. I think that maybe we need some time to think things better. To see if we really think this can work.”

“But why do we have to do this away from each other?” Seungcheol’s voice cracks and he hates that he can’t say what he really wants to, to keep dancing in circles around the important question, unconsciously sabotaging himself.

“How am I supposed to decide something like this with you around?” Jihoon frowns, “How are you supposed to do the same with me around?”

Silence. Jihoon’s frown seems to go deeper with the lack of an answer.

“I don’t want to fight with you anymore, you know,” he looks away and Seungcheol doesn’t even have the courage to chase those eyes back, “But I don’t know yet if what it takes for us to stop fighting is backing away completely. That’s what we’ll be figuring out. That’s why we need time. Both me and you.”

Jihoon stands up to leave, the remains of cold coffee long forgotten with the empty plate, and the only thing Seungcheol does is to grab onto his wrist before he leaves. They look at each other profoundly, for the first time in these days apart, and Seungcheol half expects of him to do so as much as say something, but all he knows is that his eyes are begging for Jihoon to stay, that his reaction is nothing short of pathetic when the younger has been very practical and kind about it - but the truth is, Seungcheol is too emotional and incapable of controlling those overwhelming feelings.

Watching his fingers losing their strength and uncurling from Jihoon’s trembling wrist - said person can’t even look back, Seungcheol knows how much he hates crying, especially in public - the older watches as he leaves, walking away from the café with a quick pace.

Slumping back against the chair, he sighs, messing his hair in distress. Perhaps it’s for the best, they do need time. More than a need however, Seungcheol is still unsure if that can act as a solution for them.

 

 

\--

 

 

The third dream comes just like the harsh autumn wind and the bittersweetness lying on the tip of their tongues.

 

He can see the glistening light from the afternoon sun filtering through the bright green leaves from the highest trees that surround the woods.

His heart lies with one of them.

 

The woods are quiet, too quiet for an afternoon, when nymphs and small animals twirl around the trees in an endless playtime, dresses and tunics dancing with the tempered breeze surrounding them, laughter echoing through the sky of golden sunshine.

Even if he tells himself not to, all he can do is swim in his own regret. Seungcheol remembers how he dismissed Junhui’s tragedy out of his own vanity with a wave of his hand. He didn’t believe it when Jeonghan pointed fingers at him and say that one of these days he would end up hurt or even dead as well if he kept on with the same act of arrogance and egocentrism.

Obviously, he didn't listen. What did Jeonghan know of? - Seungcheol was the god of the sun, the truth and youthfulness. Mere adjectives wouldn’t be able to capture all of his resplendence. There was no one like him and no one would ever be. Golden locks like the sun, skin iridescent with youth, he lived up to the most. Unique, he thinks. It’s still a word, unable to trap everything about him in it, but he thinks that if any word could get close to that, it should be unique.

 

Undoubtedly, he was a god of many qualities. One of them was his ability towards archery, one like no one else’s. Ever since young, enemies would succumb to his arrows, one after the other, all perishing to his might and power. It was to be expected from someone as marvelous as himself, a god, a powerful one for that matter. Seungcheol truly believed that was exactly what he was - powerful, unbeatable. He was a force to be reckoned with.

 

That said, seeing someone as Seungkwan taking pride in his abilities with the arrow would make him scoff in mockery. Seungcheol has to give in that he had a trace of talent - giving the younger was a deity of love, it was only expected of him that he had the least of capacity to properly exert his job. The difference between them though, was nothing but striking - Seungkwan was clearly no match to him.

 

Although the younger had done nothing to deserve his harsh and prideful words, that didn’t stop Seungcheol from provoking him with deride, “I can see that you’re training well.”

“I am,” he smiles, “Would you like to join?”

“It wouldn’t be fair, now, would it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” another laugh, filled with cynicism, “How are you supposed to reach my level?”

“Reach your level?” Seungkwan scoffed, the nerve he had.

“I can guarantee my arrows are much powerful than yours.”

“Yours might be powerful, yes,” he said, while twirling in his fingers two arrows, one golden and one lead, “But these? These surely sting worse. They could hurt you, too.”

“Oh, is that so?, turning away, no longer engaging in such nonsense he had created himself, Seungcheol could only shrug his shoulders in utter scorn, “I’d like to see you try.”

With a hiss, the young god gripped his bow, “So be it.”

 

Maybe if he had turned away at the right time, he could have avoided the golden arrow piercing right through his heart with great power and intensity. A part of him says that he couldn’t have escaped such fate, of having his heart inundated by an endless sea of pain and above all - love, of the kind to lose yourself into.

 

(If he was quicker to recover from the recoil, maybe he could have noticed Seungkwan firing another arrow, a lead one this time.)

 

Seungkwan was by no means cruel and neither was Jihoon. Seungcheol doubted the young deity ever laid eyes upon Jihoon before his hurried vengeance, a figure lying peacefully by the river. Son of the god of the river, Seungcheol wondered how come he had never noticed him before. Fair features, messy locks and serene expression - spellcast or not, he knew to discern what was fascinating and what wasn’t. Right then, Seungcheol knew Jihoon couldn’t be described in words like fascinating.

Drawn in by a powerful force, the god of the sun couldn’t help himself to find his way towards the resting figure. Charming was something he could pride himself of being, and although unaware of the spell he was put in, Seungcheol knew that he could conquer the heart of whoever he wished to.

 

(Somewhere from behind the bushes, Seungkwan laughed quietly at the situation unfolding before his eyes. Love, it could really be something else. Even if it was made up.)

 

Rejection isn’t a word he’s used to - if anything, Seungcheol all hears but endless praises and dying confessions, a life by his side being the words enamored hearts whisper to the sky under bright nights. Only knowing how it’s like to feel wanted, he deems as natural to misunderstand Jihoon once he utters a quiet “no” before rolling his eyes with utter distaste.

He heard it once, twice, thrice - constant dismissals thrown at his direction with every advance. It was wrong, the way his heart seemed to beat faster with each denial. The words seemed to resonate in his mind like a melody of angels, softly, averting the negative into an affirmative that draws his feet closer and closer while Jihoon’s feet seem to draw further and further.

 

Sounds of crumbled leaves and ragging breaths filled the otherwise silent woods. A chase, one he can’t stop himself from. He never felt like this - what kind of attraction translates to running after love like this? It feels so close at the same time it feels so far away, was love ever like this? Unbalanced, unrequited? Hurtful like the arrow shot in his chest?

 

(“If there’s no way to escape,” a distant prayer, “Then take everything everything from me. Please help.”)

 

He remembers, he remembers it perfectly - the triumphant smirk, the way his eyes threw daggers at him, the way his pale skin soon changed from the softness to the harshness, fingers becoming branches, leaves pouring out of his eyes, nature taking him away in a desperate attempt of rescue.

 

Seungcheol hadn’t been the one that turned to a tree, to have taken his life away out of selfishness. Yet he was the one to cry, to beg for forgiveness, to plead for mercy.

 

If Jihoon could leave with the leaves, then why couldn’t he do the same?

 

Rooted to the ground - that’s how Seungcheol still finds himself. Just like his lost love. The midsummer weather from his mistakes is long replaced with the autumn, but his tears kept on falling on the ground. They hadn't changed with the weather, still made out of hurt and regret.

In times like these, drowning in his own misery, he wonders. Could someone like him be able to truthfully fall in love? Could they love each other back, despite flaws and weaknesses? Could their story be any different if he had learnt before to step down of his pedestal?

 

The dawn breaks in and Seungcheol finds himself alone again.

 

Their love is buried underneath the leaves.


	4. Letters to Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thread is composed of beautiful words in red ink. The thread begins to tear apart with harsh words written in the same red ink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here i am once again!! a very fast update indeed!! is that supposed to be bad? i hope not!!
> 
> sadly i'm running out things to say here because i'm not exactly interesting once i'm out of memes, so here's to the next thing i'm good at talking about: choi seungcheol is the most handsome man alive??? holy shit friends that teaser fucked me up and i still couldn't recover......... ioi - whatta (soft) man.mp3..... my man's era is coming with that sweater.......
> 
> that aside: thank you everyone that has keeping up with this, in special for everyone i've talking to on twitter, anjas included!! anyone can hmu if they want @ seungchoa!! with that, i hope i don't disappoint anyone (i'm really sorry if i do, oh god, development is a department i clearly lack of) and that y'all can enjoy this chapter!! ♡

 

 

_No, no, don’t end things like this_

_For me, for me, I’m still curious about a lot_

_Our love is like an unfinished novel_

_But you’re trying to close the covers_

 

_I know, I know, I’m so stupid_

_Yes, yes, I’m all alone_

_So some day, you can open the cover and see me again_

_In between hope and anxiety_

 

 

 

 

“He’s right, you know,” a sigh, “You’re too high maintenance.”

 

Both Jisoo and Jeonghan were supposed to offer advice and crying shoulders once Seungcheol asked them to come over in order for him not to spend yet another night by himself, pathetically wailing in his memories. Apparently though, all they can do is laugh at his misery, with Jeonghan not even bothering to hide his snort at the end of Jisoo’s sentence.

 

“You’re so dramatic… He’s asking for time and you’re already acting like he broke up with you,” Jeonghan states, and he isn’t exactly wrong, while he’s not exactly right either, “You’re always fighting and making up. Like any other time, it’ll be just fine.”

“You really don’t get it,” Seungcheol lowers his head against his arms, muffling his following sentence, “He just might break up with me. For real this time.”

“It’s not like that, you’re exaggerating,” Jisoo shoves his elbow against Jeonghan’s stomach and tries to be a little more sensitive regarding the subject, “What’s different from any other time?”

“He said he’s tired of arguing,” he says in a weak voice while drawing random patterns with his finger against the glass surface of the table, “He says he doesn’t know if we can work any longer.”

Jisoo and Jeonghan look at each other briefly, unsure of what to say next. They were used to nights like these with Seungcheol to let the older cool his head and advise him on how to apologize when he didn’t know how to. The problem is that, right now, neither of them can think of something remotely close to an apology. They suspect that Seungcheol is just on the same level.

 

“That reminds me,” Jisoo hums, “You never really told us what actually happened. Was it really that bad?”

Seungcheol nods and begins to remember.

 

The memory he has been repeatedly trying to suppress and release at the same time, the one that leaves his heart racing in anxiety and spins his head in guilt.

 

At this point, anyone knew - fights and discussions were often between them. Friends, who had to listen to complaints by godless hours of the evening. Neighbors, who had to listen to the loud voices during the fights. Strangers, who had to put up with the angry and apologetic faces when one would stumble his way to the bar and the other coughing his way with smoking.

At this point, anyone knew too - that they loved each other dearly so. Friends, who had to listen to the bottled up confessions by godless hours of the evening. Neighbours, who had to listen to the loud voices during the make ups (and outs). Strangers, who had to put up with the bashful and gentle way they would stare at each other when the both of them would walk around with intertwined hands.

 

What no one could have known in advance, however, was how their last fight would bring to surface their worst sides.

 

It started with something simple. Perhaps that was the main issue all along - Seungcheol found things to be too simple and Jihoon found things to be too complicated.

People say that couples can usually go through a hard time once they move in together. You can always leave your problems at home or take them home. The problem begins when your problems are constantly inside and outside the house.

Their apartment was small, too small to fit in both Jihoon and Seungcheol’s station of work. It was too small for too much trouble, it was too small to fit in their worries and insecurities, it was too suffocating with divergent minds that began to conflict more than complete each other.

 

Seungcheol should have known better than bother a busy Jihoon when he was working. Even then, his anxiety and stress spoke better than his fleeting common sense, making the door to the tiny studio open with a creak, revealing a very distressed Jihoon with ruffled hair around heavy headphones. If his heart wasn’t in such a state of calamity, he would have easily cooed at how cute the younger looked like, wearing a old sweater of his.

 

“Jihoon?” he asked, voice stern, that made the younger remove his headphones instantly as he heard the tone. “Can you drop that for a second? I need to talk to you.”

“Please, Seungcheol,” Jihoon rubbed his temples, “Please, not right now. This is really important. I really have to finish this, I’m sorry. We’ll talk later, I promise.”

“Then when, Jihoon? This is important too. You barely talk to me these days.”

“You don’t talk to me either,” Jihoon spats, standing up from the chair and looking directly in his eyes, with red eyes and raspy voice, “Why when you only want to talk it has to be about problems?”

“I try to talk to you but it looks like you don’t have time for anything other than work.”

“So do you!”

“I’m trying right now!”

“Why does it only has to be on _your_ time? If you think so much about me like you say then you should have known that I too need time!”

“You’re always distant!”

“Can’t you see it that you’re just the same? Why did I think you’d understand anything I ever say!”

“Do you listen to anything anyone says anyway?”

“Fuck you, why do you have to be so selfish all the time?”

“It’s because I care!”

“Why does it have to be all about you?”

“Because it’s always about you!”

“Oh, so now everything is _my_ fault? How mature of you, for someone who wants to talk it out.”

“You keep pushing me away, Jihoon, I really want to settle this.”

“Me too! I don’t want to fight with you but you’re never giving me any options!”

“What the fuck,” he threads his fingers against his hair with a huff, “I really can’t do this anymore.”

“Neither I can!”

“Then what can you suggest us to do? Can’t you see that this is making both of us unhappy?”

“If you’re so unhappy then maybe it would have been better if we had never met each other!”

 

That was it. Jihoon lost it then. Shoving his phone in his jeans’ pocket, he grabbed his keys and wallet and stormed out of the room-

“Wait, Jihoon, I didn’t-”

-before slamming the door with all of the strength he could muster, shattering a framed photo in the process as the shelves wobbled.

 

In the end, it was what it was - a memory, a past unable to be altered. A deep regret coursing in his veins and cursing his heart.

 

“Oh my God,” Jisoo gasped, unable to stop the words that left his lips in his first language, “That’s more than awful.”

“I know,” was his small reply, tears already filling up his eyes, as much as he tried to fight them back.

“That’s really bad, but you can still fix it, right? You can still go back and apologize,” Jeonghan said as he patted his shoulder, “Make sure he knows you didn’t really meant it and that you won’t give up on him.”

 

Seungcheol knew that he would never give up on him, but he was beginning to doubt if he was capable of ever giving up on them.

The feeling of hesitation over a question that should be so obvious is enough to feed hopelessness to his conflicted heart.

 

 

\--

 

 

The fourth dream comes in amidst confusion and uncertainty.

 

Beige curtains blind the view from the trees outside, the ticking of the clock echoes through the entire room, sweat sliding from his back and wetting his white pristine uniform shirt - Seungcheol is already used to the calm yet stiff ambience from the detention class.

He’s there at least thrice a month, to the point it becomes routine, to the point the teachers don’t bother with him there anymore. The room feels emptier than the usual, as if he was the only student they decided to send in for an extra time. The detention room might lack in noise but it usually doesn’t lack in regulars: there’s Wen Junhui, for constantly sleeping in class and joking around when not supposed to; Yook Sungjae, for disrupting class peace with “top-notch” jokes; and Choi Seungcheol, for being in the middle of every confusion his friends take part in.

 

Despite the only occupied chair being his, it’s supposed to be a day like any other. Until the door bursts open with a small figure walking in with orange hair and a yellow cardigan.

There’s only one person in the whole school like this and Seungcheol fails in hiding his evident shock.

Honorary student Lee Jihoon - one of the top-three students of the second grade, president of the music club, owner of outstanding basketball skills and looks to be a little bit jealous of - there’s no one who could live up to him, the prime and only example of perfection.

It makes Seungcheol wonder why someone like him, a model student, is doing sniffling with red, swollen eyes slumped on a chair of the detention room.

 

“Are you okay?” Seungcheol whispers oh-so-inconspicuously, attracting the attention of everyone present in the room.

 

Jihoon doesn’t say anything, but his expression does seem to soften, as he looks away and tries to stifle a laugh at the way the teacher stares holes onto Seungcheol, who in turns hangs his head low in mild embarrassment. A few minutes later, a paper slides in across his table and he can see Jihoon eyeing him expectantly.

 

_“I’m fine, thank you. You should have known to be quiet during detention though.”_

_“Funny hearing this from someone that has never been in one before.”_

Jihoon seems taken aback with Seungcheol’s attempt of a joke for a solid second, judging from the way his shoulders rise briefly, before relaxing and retorting with ease, _“Something you couldn’t learn in months of taking it, I see.”_

 _“Fair enough,”_ he shrugs with a smile.

 

Although reprimanded by the teacher again and having the small crumpled paper taken away from them, Seungcheol doesn’t feel any less content in the least. There’s a small sensation of pride and victory in making the second year smile. Unlike popular belief, Jihoon isn’t arrogant. The thought lies on the back of his mind even after his extra time on school is over.

Jihoon looks like he’s ready to leave already and Seungcheol can’t help but walk towards him with a sheepish smile as he attempts to talk.

 

“So,” a smooth beginning, “What happened to you?”

His expression seems to falter, filling with embarrassment and tiredness, “I yelled at a teacher.”

“ _What_?” he shrieks, “I mean, aren’t you, like... _Perfect_?”

“Perfect…?”

“I-I mean, n-no, not like, in _that_ way, uh, bro” Seungcheol knows he’s making a fool out of himself for stuttering so much, yet the words don’t seem like they want to make themselves sound right, “I meant that, people look up to you and all of that. You just don’t look like the type.”

There’s a pause before Jihoon replies sadly, “Being perfect is harder than you’d think.”

 

All Seungcheol hears after that is the echo of Jihoon’s steps walking away, along with the soft whisper of his conscience telling him that he has to meet him again.

 

He does.

 

The progression from their first meeting speeds itself to seconds, thirds and fourths. Before he knew it,  Seungcheol began to wait for Jihoon to finish settling his things - colored pens leaving his desk and his guitar inside the case hanging on his shoulder - so they could go out for lunch together. It’s surprising, the way they click with such ease, one complementing the other somehow.

The cold built mentality of someone successful, “perfect”, crumbles completely once Seungcheol is a witness to Jihoon’s funniest sides - his mildly sour humour and his way of laughing - hands clapping and everything else - that made Seungcheol laugh along too. It makes him happy, to see the constant tension and pressure Jihoon puts in himself and the expectations that surround him to keep with his ideal image. Seungcheol likes him, the Jihoon behind merits and medals. It’s the kind of imperfection that is nothing but perfect in his eyes.

Spending time with Jihoon proves itself not only to be enjoyable, but academically useful too, since it does get Seungcheol out of the list of regulars at detention. In a few weeks, his concentration improves and in a few months, his grades skyrocket. Teachers can’t help but be impressed with the way his dedication with studies shifts from non-existent to something that’s actually there. With a laugh, all he would do is to sling his arm over Jihoon’s shoulder proudly, leaving all of the credits to him, ruffling his hair in a way that would earn him a lot of complaints and a kick to the shin.

 

Falling for Jihoon is almost as easy for Seungcheol as the way he entangles himself on their candid friendship. It has everything straight out from the cheesy and cliché movies Seungcheol pleads the younger to watch with him, because only Jihoon would be able to understand this uncool and corny side of him, even if he too made fun of him in the end. Seungcheol understood Jihoon’s perfect imperfections too. There was something about the smaller student who often changed hair colors that made Seungcheol want to spill out all of his secrets - except the most relevant out of them all. Even then, he found a way to tell the things he didn’t have the courage to.

Before going home, Seungcheol always made sure to slip a little something inside Jihoon’s locker. Sometimes they’re candies he’s seen Jihoon stare longingly at when they were having lunch, sometimes they’re small stationary items he thinks the younger would like. But mostly, without fail, they’re letters, their contents overflowing with pretty words and sugary feelings. His handwritten confessions aren’t the best really, but he tries. It’s the only way he can sleep at night knowing that, at least once in the day, he told Jihoon that he loved him, wholeheartedly.

On the mornings, he can see Jihoon complaining about someone who keeps shoving letters and trinkets inside his locker. From incredulous frowns to red ears, Seungcheol watches as the younger slowly melts in from the still anonymous loverboy. It’s with crossed fingers that he hopes that, one day, he can finally muster the courage he needs to reveal himself.

 

A few weeks later, he does. Except it isn’t as grand as he daydreamed about.

 

Saying that it wasn’t grand would be sugar-coating it. It’s a hot afternoon like any other and Seungcheol is dropping a letter through the locker, just about to leave when Jihoon’s eyes meet with his, equal gazes of surprise locking beyond the sound of the guitar dropping on the floor.

 

No one has to be too smart to connect the dots together. Jihoon is already too smart for his own good.

 

Seungcheol waits for him to say something, even if it means that he’ll be rejected, even if it means that their friendship is going to be forever ruined. A word would be enough. All Jihoon does though, is to stare blankly at him, eyes hinting shock and disappointment at the same time. It’s not a good sign and the older braces himself for the worst.

 

 _“‘You’re here and a light shines upon me / I get a happy phone call and start the morning / I hope the sun goes down quickly / And I hope the moon doesn’t rise,’”_ Jihoon reads out loud, voice still sounding melodic even as it quivers, words heavy as he intones them, “...Aren’t you a little too late for that?”

 

Is he? Seungcheol doesn’t know what to answer or what to ask, his throat is dry and his feet are rooted to the ground, denying any instance of movement. Once Jihoon collects his guitar from the ground and slings the strap of the case over his shoulder, he begins to walk down the hall, away from the blushing, from the tears and all of that in Seungcheol. From the distance, he can see the younger clutching the pale pink paper with tight fists, kneading it on the process.

 

Seungcheol sees a fragment of his broken heart in that letter.

 

On the next day, the neat desk from the first row of the second year’s class is found empty. No guitar case, no colored pens, no Jihoon.

 

Transferred, they said, the word making Seungcheol gulp back the tears. “I thought you were friends,” the teacher states, tilting her head in confusion, “Didn’t he tell you that?”

Seungcheol doesn’t know what to reply and the teacher seems to detect his discomfort, “Jihoon-ssi has been offered a music internship in Europe. He signed the papers this morning.”

All he can do is nod dumbly, feeling the pitiful gaze on him, “Maybe he was afraid to tell you. It’s hard to walk away from someone like this.”

 

She dismisses him with an apologetic smile, saying that they could always contact each other even with the land and the sea tearing them apart. They could, maybe, but Jihoon is out of reach and Seungcheol’s fingers are numb. There’s a white noise surrounding his steps and he can’t hear the curious voices of some of Jihoon’s classmates asking about his whereabouts. His replies are slow, apologetic, lying with the fault he thinks he’s responsible for.

 

Jihoon takes the studious Seungcheol with him. His classmates from the back row seem to enjoy that “the hyung they knew is finally back”, yet Seungcheol doesn’t know if anyone knows who he is anymore. The jokes he once lost air laughing at suddenly don’t feel any funny. Paying attention to class and learning doesn’t seem any appealing either. It’s a constant sensation of void, emptiness, that can’t be filled no matter what.

 

Old habits don’t die, he thinks to himself once he arrives at the detention room later that day, lifting his eyes from the ground to meet surprised ones from a teacher, “I haven’t seen you in a while!”

Seungcheol smiles sadly in return as he sits down, “In the end I’ll always come back here, huh?”

 

Beige curtains, ticking clocks and sweaty shirts - in the end, the emptiness of the classroom is all that awaits him, just like the first day the two of them met.

 

The echoing melody in his heart is slowly tuning down to a soundless voice as he falls asleep on the desk with teary eyes.


	5. Meaningless Prayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The red thread serves to no deity. Its only purpose is of connecting a soul to another, and if said function is not being properly executed, no deity can save the thread from snapping. It relies on feelings above the gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these updates have been coming faster than i expected them to!! i still hope that's not too bad... 
> 
> lately my head has been spinning with so much college stuff to do this is a good way to de-stress (and procrastinate. oops.)
> 
> this chapter is really long what the fuck i hope that's not a bad thing either... seems like things are becoming quite uh... trickier from here... i'm so sorry...
> 
> we are actually halfway done with this so please have a little more patience with me!! ♡

 

 

_Somebody help me now_

_My heart is darker than the black night_

_Where did it go wrong?_

_Every night, I can’t sleep because of you_

 

_Where did you go?_

_I’m like a lost child, looking for you_

_I don’t want to wait for you anymore_

_But I pray that you’ll come back_

 

 

 

 

Seungcheol is a man of belief.

 

Said characteristic of him is not restricted to the religious kind. Being hopeful, to always believe there’s a way in the end, is what keeps him going. It’s the kind of pure, innocent-like faith that lives with him, that allows him to keep his head up high and taking the lead to his own way.

 

He used to be sure that things would be fine in the end.

Key word: used to.

 

The next time he meets with Jihoon isn’t an accident. It’s premeditated, expected. Their personal conflicts can’t and won’t stop the world outside their bubble, even if they want to. They still have responsibilities of their own and other relationships, although not with the same degree of intent and intensity, to maintain.

Perhaps, that’s what hurts the most about it, at least for Seungcheol. That he has to cope with the pain and the lingering uncertainty of a future of uneasy steps on a tightrope, pushing his discomfort to a secluded corner of his heart and mind as he tries to focus on other tasks.

 

Mei Qi’s birthday is just right around the corner and like the good brother Junhui is, he intends to throw a surprise party for her and forces everyone he knows to attend the event. Seungcheol (and Jihoon) is no exception, and even if his heart isn’t ready for the prospect of an obvious confront, he does confirm his presence once asked.

All of their friends seem to know what happened between him and Jihoon, if the brief, but existent moment of quietness that installs in the room once he steps in by himself is of any indication. It dissipates as fast as it arrives, yet the small breath of time is enough to stick in his mind as a sign of something bad.

 

“Stop worrying about what didn’t happen yet,” he feels a pat on his shoulder and he turns to see Jeonghan and Jisoo, both looking a little too tipsy already. “Just take a deep breath and remember to tell him what you really mean to.”

“Is he here yet?”

“Yes,” Jisoo says, eyes directing to the beige couch, where a few people are scattered around and he sees him, Jihoon is his black cap and a blue plaid shirt, one that, if Seungcheol isn’t wrong, is actually his.

 

Seokmin used to say that Jihoon and Seungcheol could communicate with telepathy, since they barely need to do the talking when the other is calling them with their eyes, the way they just seemed to know when the other is thinking of them. Even with their current unstable signal, as if he knew it, Jihoon looks back and they find each other's eyes, locking gazes for a few seconds.

With a heavy push (Jisoo’s fault, Jeonghan screams as he walks away with aforementioned person), Seungcheol begins to walk towards Jihoon, who is already standing, looking down as he shuffles in his feet.

 

“Do you want to talk?” is what Seungcheol asks straight away, both in despite of his anxiety and the way he knows Jihoon doesn’t like to go around in circles when it comes to a real matter.

“Yes, but,” he looks from side to side before settling his eyes on Seungcheol for the second time of the night, less wary but still not as sweet, “Can we go somewhere else? Outside? Or maybe in one of the rooms?”

 

Seungcheol nods and soon they find themselves walking the familiar path to Junhui’s room, knowing he wouldn’t have minded, as he never had before. Junhui was one of the people that eventually became a mutual friend between Seungcheol and Jihoon, and for that he was eternally grateful, always welcoming both of them with open arms.

He remembers well, how the way to the room wasn’t like this at all. He remembers the hurried steps, the ragged breaths, the lips falling over patches of skin in his neck, the door slamming in urge. Currently though, reality is much different than memory, with their steps being anything but hurried, walking slowly, a wall of coldness leaving iciness with every neutral breath with a door closing quietly as they arrived their destination.

The sound of music blasting and bad singing is muffled with the door, lyrics long lost in the barrier of their silence. Jihoon sits on the bed while Seungcheol opts for a chair, distance is written all over their faces. It's difficult to trespass the barbed wires between them, but effort is needed if Seungcheol wants something to change, especially if it’s (mostly) his fault that they’re being like this.

 

Before he can even begin with apologies and explanations, Jihoon interrupts him, “You don’t have to ask for forgiveness.”

“What I said was really bad though,” Seungcheol sighs, “I’m really sorry.”

“That’s fine,” his lips tug a little upwards, “I’ve said a lot of meaner things.”

“That doesn’t change what I did though.”

“You don’t have to stress about it, really,” his voice is quiet, whisper-like, “It’s okay.”

 

There’s a moment of silence after that. Seungcheol realizes that it’s still not over, easy like that. Jihoon looks pensive, the way he does when he’s pondering seriously about a matter.

 

“Is there something you want to say?” his voice is careful, stepping in glass shards.

He nods, “Actually, it’s something that I want to ask for.”

 

Seungcheol nods, although he still is worried with the way it's requested. Jihoon has never been this careful asking for anything before and it worries him.

 

“Can I kiss you?”

 

Almost falling from the chair, Seungcheol takes a sharp breath and tries to process things. Jihoon is looking at him, directly in the eyes, and it sends shivers down his spine. Not of excitement, not of happiness. One of doubt, out of something he never knew he could be doubtful of.

He stands up, slowly and feels the mattress dipping under his weight. Jihoon’s eyes are difficult to read, there’s not enough light in the room for Seungcheol to swim in his gaze. He feels his hands sweating and there’s an uncomfortable feeling in his chest.

 

Distance closes between them, and for once, it’s not pleasant. It’s just everything he’s been dreaming of for the past days of being able to do again, but that’s not it. Their kiss feels empty, meaningless, just the very action of sealing lips, with no feelings underlying.

It’s _forced_ and Seungcheol’s heart crumbles at the realization.

 

More than an impulse out of need to feel, which is already bad on its own, there’s a memory that triggers at the action that makes everything feel even worse.

 

He remembers vividly, the heat days during their first summer together.

 

Affectionate gestures were the kind of thing they had just grown used to - walking in public with intertwined fingers was the most recent achievement of their relationship. Jihoon was a little shy with the whole idea of a relationship, his fingers leaving gaps every now and then, releasing from the grip out of pure embarrassment.

It was cute, it always was. Maybe it was too much for his heart to handle, not ready to be a witness of Jihoon’s softest sights, rare ones that happened because of him on top of that. It was enough to make his head spin in happiness, of something that other people could have never done to him.

Even if it was adorable, it still worried Seungcheol that they were moving too fast with the relationship for both of them keep up. He truly feared that someday, their perfect balance could become too little or too much for them. The last thing he wished to was to force something between them.

 

These insecurities kept growing in his heart until the day they had their first kiss.

 

It was the kind of thing he had wanted to do for the longest time now, but the will to ask for permission hanged on the tip of his tongue and never left as days went by, always leaving the thought for tomorrow. Seungcheol wasn’t like this, known for his exaggerated straightforwardness, likely saying things before fully thinking them through. Still, he knew the importance of not rushing things.

It struck him on one afternoon, as they lied side by side under the shade of a tree that he really, _really_ wanted to kiss him. More than adorable, Jihoon’s expression under the shadow of the leaves of funny shape and the afternoon light glowing against his skin was breathtaking, mesmerizing, ethereal.

Shyly, after a brief internal debate that decided that it wouldn’t hurt if he did it, Seungcheol leaned in for a small peck in the lips, retracting himself away from Jihoon’s face as fast as he could, looking to the side to avoid further embarrassment for his unthought actions.

 

“You could have asked,” a sleepy voice mumbled back to him.

 

Dark eyes are staring back at him, playful, even with underlying embarrassment of the surprise. Seungcheol’s mind is running in scenarios of bad reactions, even if it seems as if it wasn’t something bad. What if he wasn’t supposed to? Is that too much of an imposition? Was it the right thing to do? Was--

 

“It’s okay,” he rubs his thumb against Seungcheol’s palm in assurement, voice still laced with tiredness, “It could have been better if I was awake enough to kiss you back, though.”

“Can I try again then?” he asked cheekily, humor returning to his features, although his shoulders fell from relief he didn’t mean to show.

“Suit yourself.”

 

The second (first, to a conscient Jihoon) feels far better. It’s with intent, lovingly and sweet. All sorts of happiness bursting with the excitement and light coyness.

 

“It feels better when you ask,” he smiled and leaned back against his arm before losing himself in sleep once again.

 

From them on, he promised under the fading twilight to be more considerate, to never impose himself like that.

 

Yet seeing the way both of them were trembling in anxiety with closed eyes, lips unable to cause a better reaction than discomfort, trying to provoke a better reaction that never came, what was to be expected of the two of them?

 

What has become of their love?

 

“That’s enough,” is what Jihoon says with a shaky breath, parting away as if he could read his thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol replies quietly, backing away with an apologetic expression.

“Don’t… Don’t apologize,” he runs his hands through his hair, “I wanted that too. I really did. It’s just…”

“...It didn’t feel right.”

“It really didn’t.”

“What are we going to do now?”

“I don’t…” he stops mid sentence. Seungcheol waits, but the original continuation for that thought never comes, “I want to stop.”

“Do you…” the answer leaves shakily, terrified, “Do you need more time? That’s fine if you do, I--”

“I don’t think you’re following,” Jihoon cuts in with a tired, perhaps regretful sigh and it looks like he wants to cry.

 

Seungcheol wished he could stop the time so he wouldn’t have to hear the following words he would end up complying to with little resistance:

 

“I want to break up with you.”

 

 

\--

 

 

The fifth dream comes in with tears and hopeless pleads.

 

Sighing and staring longingly is all Seungcheol ever does lately, head metaphorically and physically over the clouds.

 

“You’re not telling me that,” Seungcheol takes another sigh, but this time it isn’t a blissful one as he hears the words from a horrified gasp, “...You fell in love with a human?”

 

Angels aren’t supposed to fall in love with humans. It’s forbidden, the greatest rule among the divine hierarchy. He knows it, everyone does, but how can he stop himself from falling in helplessly when Lee Jihoon is the most wonderful human he has ever been assigned to. In many years of watching over many people from every corner of the whole world, no one had the impact in Seungcheol’s heart as Jihoon did.

Ever since the beginning, Seungcheol just knew there was something special about him. There were quite a lot of stones in Jihoon’s way as he grew up, with Seungcheol constantly coming to his aid, like his status allowed him to. Fondness quickly became something more intense, moulding his heart around the edges into something softer, lovingly.

 

Perhaps that special something was love all along.

 

Seungcheol wants to say something though, to dismiss the thought as fast as he can. No one (else) can know he’s developed feelings for a human, not even someone as trustworthy as angel Seokmin, who still looks at him with a shocked expression. He lacks the ability of telling lies, as good and pure as the lower-class angel. Awful as it sounds and feels, Seungcheol can’t risk letting himself be expelled from the gates of Heaven if Seokmin says the wrong thing at the wrong time.

 

A shiver runs down his spine only of thinking about being expelled.

 

He remembers the way a former angel, Mingyu, has been expelled from Heaven for protecting a powerful demon a few hundred years ago. Contacts with the fallen creatures of the underworld was the kind of proximity as bad as falling in love with a human, under the result of punishment if ever condoned with. It was heartbreaking, to comfort Seokmin seeing one of his greatest friends collapse like this.

With all of his heart, he didn’t want to see Seokmin shed tears again for seeing another friend pushed away from Heaven. But with all of his heart too, Seungcheol was willing to give up of his status on Heaven to become a human, if that meant being able to be closer with Jihoon somehow.

 

With that said, once all activities are dismissed for the day, Seungcheol stares longingly at the gates of Heaven, falling away from his gaze as he flies further and further away from the warm confine of clouds and finds his way to the black rivers and dead atmosphere from the Underworld.

 

“Oh,” a voice rings in the thick air, red eyes lighting up in recognition, “I could have never expected you here, eight archangel Seungcheol.”

 

Standing before him is the very own royalty of the Underworld, of the seventh generation in the pure-blood lineage, prince Minghao. Dressed in a black suit matching with a big coat of the same color, he could have been easily mistaken for a human, his hair auburn hair giving light to soft features. Seungcheol knows better than trust a demon though, the red eyes shining with the intensity of everything he should avoid as a celestial being.

It doesn’t stop him from taking a step closer.

 

“Neither could I,” he says, voice trailing.

“I can tell there’s something you want from me.”

“Yes,” he regains his composure, “I… I want to become human.”

“Huh,” a whistle, “That could be arranged.”

Seungcheol gasps, “You know how to?”

“Yes,” Minghao laughs, “You should know that everything around here comes with a price, though.”

“Please,” desperation is the only word that seems appropriate to describe the way he drops to his knees in absolute helplessness, “I’ll do anything it takes.”

“Fine,” the demon says, eyes searching him up and down, “There _is_ something I want from you, yes.”

“It’s yours. I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s yours. As long as you can make me human.”

“Huh, if that wasn’t easy,” Minghao seems taken aback for a second. He laughs and suddenly Seungcheol doesn’t feel as charitable as he felt a second ago, “Then we have ourselves a deal. I’m taking your wings, white archangel.”

 

Before he could even protest, an excruciating pain manifests all over his body, taking him in like flames consuming his whole being. The cruelty is expressed on the way he loses himself together with the richest source of strength to angels. Feather by feather, he becomes increasingly weaker. Feather by feather, his body burns and screams for solace, manifested on the blazing heat centered on his back. Even when it’s over, Seungcheol can still feel the pain ripping across his body, wounds throbbing with his misery.

 

“That’ll do,” Minghao smirks, “It’s my pleasure to make business with you. Now here’s to my part of the deal.”

 

All Seungcheol can feel is pain, and he’s so deep into the feeling that keeps cutting his insides as his wounds keep on throbbing, along with the hollow feeling in his heart, that he barely takes notice that he’s standing in the middle of the sidewalk during a moonless night, heavy rain hitting his injuries as he hisses in pain.

 

“Oh my _God_ , hey, are you alright?” his body feels numb, however, amidst the turmoil going on his head, Seungcheol can recognize a soft voice ringing in his ear as he stands up with the help of strong yet gentle arms, “Please, stay awake, oh fuck, at least until the emergency arrives, I--”

 

As his vision begins to turn to complete darkness, the sweet voice is gone just like it appeared.

 

“Hyung, he’s awake!”

 

If only he could manage to move the upper half of his body without immediately hissing in agony, Seungcheol would attempt to rise from the comfortable surface he’s laid down onto. The pain, however, is too much for him, intense enough to even move a finger.

He opens his eyes slowly and the view he’s greeted to is the one he’s been daydreaming of for years. Everything that composes Jihoon is even softer and mesmerizing up close - every detail is rich and Seungcheol can feel his eyes watering at the sight.

 

“Shit, he’s crying now,” Jihoon mutters, backing away from Seungcheol, “Chan, go get the first aid kit on the top shelf and fast. This is getting worse than I thought.”

 

Seungcheol suddenly remembers: Jihoon has been studying medicine for the longest time. Currently a nurse, the late guardian knew all about how the figure that is currently analyzing his back and frowning (cutely, with a hand supporting his chin, if he remembers well). Jihoon had the courage and willpower to make his dream come true. His braveness and hard work were one of the many reasons that made him fall completely for the young nurse.

A smaller boy, with spiky black hair, presumably Chan, runs back to Jihoon as he holds a small white case. Jihoon’s hand lies on his shoulder he whispers reassuringly, “This is going to burn, but it’ll be just fine. Trust me.”

 

It does burn. Terribly so, embers growing out of his body and all Seungcheol can do is scream in anguish. Even if it’s for a brief moment, the sensation is nothing short of tormenting, a pain strong enough to make him wail in despair, hands clutching the sheets under him with all of the force he can muster.

“Please, please stop it,” his own voice sounds rough in his ears, pain taking all of him.

“We’re almost done,” Chan says as he holds his hand in an attempt of solace, “Just hang on there, hyung.”

 

His eyes are closing without his consent. With pained memories about his wings, Seungcheol loses consciousness, only able to hear voices calling out for him a moment before everything fades away.

 

Being a human hurts. The strength he was known for having before is gone with his wings, the secret to his stability as a celestial creature. During the first days, Seungcheol has been waking up only to reminisce the pain and feel it again, to cry in his own demise. He thinks this is the punishment he deserves for disobeying God and breaking the laws to grant his selfish wish.

 

It hurts, it hurts. But it doesn’t hurt enough to make him regret his decisions.

Jihoon manages to become even more lovable than Seungcheol knew he was from above.

 

He takes the time to treat him carefully, touches landing softly against his skin as he does his best to not to cause any more pain to Seungcheol while he’s checking his wound and applying the appropriate medicine when needed. It has Seungcheol looking forward to these moments even though it causes him great pain - feeling is much better than looking, the smallest contact burned pleasantly in his skin with a silent intake of breath.

 

“You can stay for as long as you’d like to,” Jihoon says once Seungcheol asks if he isn’t being too much of a bother. Even though this is all that he wished for, he couldn’t force himself into his life.

What he receives though it’s a blindingly bright smile, for the first time ever since Seungcheol’s arrival. It’s genuine, pure, and his heart swells with the feeling. Seeing the smile he admired for so long being directed towards him is nothing short of a miracle.

“Thank you,” is all that Seungcheol wills himself to reply, because thankfulness is the strongest feeling he has for Jihoon. For saving his life, before and after he fell from the clouds.

(Given permission, he intends to stay as long as time permits him to, but he doesn’t really tell Jihoon that.)

 

The following weeks are peaceful, straight out of everything he could have wished for - his physical wounds are beginning to heal and his emotional ones are slowly turning to sweet emotions thanks to Jihoon’s company. Quiet conversations in the middle of the night over tea and buttery crackers makes Seungcheol feel better than any of the medicine he has been taking.

During these soft moments, Seungcheol lets himself believe that maybe his feelings are slowly becoming reciprocal. There are a few times that the older catches Jihoon staring at him in a different way, eyes docile as he talks about his day. It’s easy to lose himself in such an inviting stare, it makes Seungcheol believe it’s possible to love Jihoon a little bit more as time marches forward.

Seungcheol, however, also lets himself belief that maybe this is just an impression. That Jihoon couldn’t fall in love with him back.

 

It takes a small peck Jihoon steals of him in the middle of the night as he thinks Seungcheol is sleeping for him to begin believing that he might have been right all the time.

 

The morning after follows with Jihoon acting naturally as if it never happened, even if Seungcheol has known him well enough to catch at the way the younger’s gaze flicker to his lips every now and then. His heart is exploding with feelings, it’s the happiest he’s ever been in his entire existence, and nothing could ever shake him up like this.

 

Little did he know that there was something that could shake him up even more.

If only it could be a pleasant something.

“I thought you knew,” there’s a stern, hurtful voice whispering in his ear and Seungcheol drops his plate in complete shock, “Angels can’t and won’t stay with humans.”

 

Standing right before him is Choa, one of the eight cherubs. Her usual air of elegance and kindness is long gone from her expression, her heels clicking terrifyingly on the floor as she walks towards him. Her expression is torn between utter disappointment and distress, and by the way her hair is disheveled, her composure looking lost for the first time he remembers seeing it, Seungcheol can somewhat predict this isn’t going to end well.

“You will have a proper trial once we go back,” she says, not sparing room for excuses, and there’s something in her voice that makes her authority crumble in hurt as she whispers only for him to hear, “I’m so sorry. I can’t go against the rules.”

He begins to be dragged away by dominions, unable to clutch on no piece of furniture to try to hold onto. Fighting back is useless, with such strength pressed against him that every attempt of resistance feels worthless. Either way, that doesn’t stop him from screaming, begging, doing everything in his little power to stay, even if it’s just for a short while.

 

It’s hard to tell what hurts the most about everything that is currently happening, but he has a feeling that it’s the way Jihoon looks so shocked, taken aback with tears streaming down his eyes, incapable of moving a muscle from where he’s standing.

 

He doesn’t know in which moment Jihoon came in, but it’s easy to tell he’s seen enough, more than he ever should. He looks pale, so much more than ever before and all Seungcheol wants to do is to talk to him, say the things he needs to, but it’s hard to make out anything that he wishes to say as he is taken away from the only person that allowed to see happiness from up close.

 

When the daylight comes, Seungcheol knows Jihoon will remember nothing about him anymore. Still, as the moon stays high in the sky, watching tears trail down Jihoon’s face in pure disbelief, unable to process everything that is happening in front of him.

 

Seungcheol allows himself to believe in something for one last time that his final prayers for the two of them being together in another life won’t be as meaningless as they sound, words leaving out of his trembling lips and broken heart.


	6. Aim, Don't Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything has its limits. The red thread is no exception. The problem lies in until when the thread can be stretched without snapping the universe's patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aha!! i'm back girlies!! and so is seventeen!! ♡
> 
> firstly, i'd like to apologize for my delay. i have been so busy with finals and college stuff in general that i just couldn't find time to update this faster, even though i meant to. to the ones that have been taking track of this, i'm so sorry!! and even though i really am sorry, i couldn't present a chapter good enough to repay the wait, instead, showing something shorter and with less quality than the usual. this is a difficult one but maybe next time i'll be able to do better... i'm so sorry... i'll promise i'll try harder next time...
> 
> this chapter has been sponsored by zé neto & cristiano - seu polícia, as no other song could describe with striking precision of what this chapter is about

 

 

_ These days, I sleep with tissues instead of you _

_ My phone playlist is filled with sad songs _

_ Because I feel like they’ll _

_ Comfort me like this song _

_ But I miss you _

 

_ (Traces of you remain in my room, _

_ Covered in tears) _

_ Everyone goes through a breakup _

_ But why am I acting like this? _

_ I’m even worse today _

 

 

 

Perhaps the worst of it all is sharing.

 

It’s two in the morning and Seungcheol has already received several complaints from his neighbors for blasting sad music, drowning his crying in between. He knows he’s being dramatic, knows he’s taking it over the edge, knows that Jihoon would have found pathetic to see the state he’s in. Seungcheol knows all of that, but it hurts, it hurts so _much_ , and he has never felt a pain so strong.

 

Everything smells like smoke and tastes like nicotine on the verge of his lips, but the amount of pressure against his lungs isn’t enough to drown his pain like it used before. For the first time in many years he finds himself on the edge of drunkenness, taking large sips of the bottles hidden on the lower cupboard to see if he finds a little bit of Jihoon in the drinks he despises so much.

He won’t and never will, because Jihoon isn’t toxic or deadly, he isn’t the bitterness dying on his tongue with a couple swigs of alcohol and impending headache. Jihoon is light, warmness, a small fire inside him that burns pleasantly, unlike the scorching burn on his throat with every gulp.

 

Breakups are supposed to be difficult, yet Seungcheol wonders if they have to be so much.

 

It hurt a lot when Jihoon came in earlier in the morning with bleary eyes (and Seungcheol finds himself staring at them too much) and baggy clothes saying that he just wanted to collect his belongings.

The least Seungcheol can do for him is offer his help, which Jihoon seems hesitant in accepting, but does so nonetheless.

 

It hurts, because it’s difficult to tell apart what belongs to who. There are shirts Seungcheol knows that are originally his, yet he folds them on a box with a neat handwritten “clothing” in black ink. There are a few trinkets from trips and some photos that they weren’t supposed to share, yet Seungcheol finds himself selecting where these small memories are going by his own.

He remembers placing each and every one of them around the apartment, their apartment. He remembers a hot summer afternoon when he stared at the walls with a bucket of paint by his side. He remembers picking a color, blue, because Jihoon said a pink living room was too extravagant.

He remembers when the problem wasn’t filling the boxes with items to the brim, but the pain of taking them out in order to construct their space together. The bother of painting the walls all over again, of cleaning the excessive dirt that didn’t seem to go away no matter what, of spending hours lying on the cold ground because they were too tired to place the bed where it belonged.

 

Every corner of the house has a little something that brings up memories, building the otherwise blank canvas into a combination of colors that they called home.

 

Little by little, Seungcheol remembers every piece they built together as he removes them one by one.

 

The words they exchange during the day weren’t enough to fill a hand. The quietness, save for the soft music playing as background, is suffocating, it increases the weight of work of pushing and pulling boxes around.

Occasionally, Seungcheol can hear soft humming or muffled sniffles. He isn’t sure to who those belong to either. Instead of asking what’s wrong, Seungcheol asks if Jihoon wants to take a break to eat.

Awkward isn’t a word strong enough to describe the current tenseness of the situation. Seungcheol used to take every opportunity he got to sit as close as possible of Jihoon whenever they went to eat, a habit that would mostly result in loud complaints of annoyance from the younger, tip of the ears red when Seungcheol would nudge his leg with his own in a cheeky smile. The past clearly doesn’t apply to the present, with them sitting across each other, silvery clinkling above their silence.

 

The rest of the day doesn’t improve in the slightest. In fact, as the clock spins forward and the apartment seems to become emptier by the minutes, the only thing that rises is the impending sadness and the disastrous realization of their reality.

 

Slowly, but surely the afternoon ends, boxes piling up around the(ir) living room. Once Jihoon deems himself satisfied, checking a few other drawers before deciding that he’s done, he says in a small voice that he’ll be asking for Seokmin and Soonyoung to help him to take his items away. Seungcheol thinks of offering his help once again, but something about the way Jihoon looks at him tells him not to.

It takes a while, yet it seems too soon - a pair of smiles dying as soon as they step into the mining field of their quietness. Both of them send a sympathetic “hello” towards Seungcheol’s way, who replies with a strained smile.

 

It hurts, because once Jihoon is gone, the apartment is visibly emptier and the view feels like an insight of Seungcheol’s heart.

 

The digital numbers of his phone announce another wasted hour dwelling in memories, a reminder of the sleep he isn’t and won’t be getting back anytime soon. With a last swig of the already warm bottle in his hands, Seungcheol finds himself patting his pockets in search of a cigarette, only to realize that he smoked the remaining ones already.

He means to walk out in a pathetic attempt to buy more, but his steps are faltering and all he can do is hold himself onto the knob before letting his shoulders fall in the pinnacle of his misery.

 

He glances around the empty spots of the shelves and sighs for the umptenth time.

 

How is he supposed to move away someone so precious of his heart like that?

 

 

\--

 

 

The sixth dream comes in static.

 

There are a few glimpses of overwhelming pain burning in his shoulders, contrasting with hues of black and red spread across his arms. Everything is blurry, memories conflicting with his current reality, his head is spinning and the only sensation that transcends the level of soreness all over his body is of the tip of a knife against his throat.

 

Life in District 6 wasn’t bad, Seungcheol hums to himself as he watches the scenery speeding past his eyes from the window of the train. If he really wanted to, if he had such audacity in him, he could have taken control of the wheel and drive the machine far away from its original destination - if there was something he understood about, then it definitely was about vehicles, just like every other mechanic from District 6. The luxury his current ride offered was nothing compared to the smell of oil, the whirring of engines echoing all day long in his head and the feeling of the work in his hands in the repair shop - it’s been only half an hour and he already misses it badly.

The sensations of labour Seungcheol felt at the repair shop were so much better than listening to an unprepared girl - Jinsook, he heard, and oh God, she’s too young to die mercilessly against the hands of unprepared kids just like herself - attempting and failing to sniffle quietly to herself, doing her best to contain her tears from the mentor Byulyi, who seems to be staring at them warily, analysing every pore of their skins, and the chaperone, Wheein, who looks at them with eyes already filled with guilt and regret that doesn’t belong to her.

Seungcheol hasn’t been trained to kill, yet that’s what he’s expected and supposed to do now. As the colors of the sky began to change and the train finally came to a silence due to Jinsook falling asleep out of the energy her tears drained out of her, Seungcheol thinks about what he should do with a situation like that. He wishes he could cry too, yet he has the feeling he forgot his tears way back home.

 

The glass buildings, advanced cars and extravagant clothing from the residents of the Capitol couldn’t manage to pull in his interest not even for a second. Neither the first-class cuisine the chefs of the hotel the careers are residing in insist to pamper him with do nothing but let his lips quiver for a brief moment to thank the staff. Seungcheol prides himself in not forgetting his questionable manners even when he’s about to be sent to a deathly field.

The best thing Seungcheol can do during the very few days that precedes the games is train his physical power, the only thing he can rely to, according to Byulyi. He doesn’t mean to, but he sees how the other careers look at his showcases of strength with traces of fear, envy and - when it comes to District 3 Lee Jihoon - a feeling of misty disdain assuming the form of anger.

Aforementioned career should be intimidated as well, yet he isn’t it - Jihoon pointedly spares a few seconds of his attention to glance up and down at Seungcheol before walking to the back of the training room and mess around with parts of electronics scattered around the floor. Lee Jihoon is small and deadly, that much Seungcheol managed to gather. In a span of two hours, he built a weapon on his own out of the junk he found, earning himself a small smirk of satisfaction and the gulping from other careers. Seungcheol hopes silently that no one meets him in their way.

 

Against his wishes, Seungcheol does meet Jihoon’s way.

 

Their first conversation is an accident, a trick of fate, beginning when they finds themselves together inside of the elevator to reach the upper floor. Seungcheol was looking for a moment of peace on the rooftop of the building and apparently, so did Jihoon. Once leaving the elevator, they walk together the stairs that lead to the entrance of the roof, and immediately, upon opening the door, the polluted breeze of the city greet their faces.

 

“Listen,” Seungcheol hears him, a voice airy as the wind, its natural calm embraced in a harsh and painful tone, “Can you at least go to the other side of the roof? I don’t need company, especially from an enemy.”

“You don’t look like you want to be alone,” Seungcheol points out, “I mean… I don’t want to either.”

“Are you deaf? I might be killing you in a few hours,” Jihoon says, exasperatedly, “It’s too late to take pity.”

“Just because the future might be different it doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the present, right?” he sighs, “I’m tired of all this burden. Aren’t you?”

“Aren’t we all?” Jihoon spats, “I really don’t need your pity, District 6.”

“Choi Seungcheol.”

“Whatever,” he sighs and repeats the action once Seungcheol begins to stare at him, “Lee Jihoon.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Seungcheol smiles genuinely for the first time, instead of the forced smiles Wheein instructed him to pose for the cameras and the broken ones in his attempts to comfort Jinsook in the middle of the night. It feels right, even if the other career seems to disagree.

Jihoon snorts, “Aren’t you an optimistic one.”

“I’m trying,” he says, “Maybe you could try it too.”

 

Jihoon then stands up, stuffs his hands on the pockets of his jeans and leaves. Seungcheol feels somehow different - like Jihoon isn’t as menacing as his façade tries to show. It’s a different feeling, even if he knows the clock still ticks the same. Descending to his floor, his mildly better humor collapses completely as he walks straight ahead to where both his mentor and chaperone stare at him from the doorframe. Byulyi and Wheein share a look, something that only the two of them seem to know, before Wheein gasps quietly and turns away in a weak attempt of hiding her tears, a sad and bothered mentor already rubbing her back in a pitiful offer of solace.

 

“Kind,” she sniffles, “Kids like you are too kind to survive.”

 

The phrase is stuck in his head during his sleep until the last day. Wheein sounds merrier by the time he wakes up, almost forgetting that she’s watching their deaths in a few days, hours if they’re as weak as Byulyi seems to predict. Either way, she showers both Seungcheol and Jinsook with affection and care - the last act of sweetness before their destined demise.

 

And destined it is, although the images become too blurry for him to remember.

 

There’s an interference in this timeline, but that’s something he can’t tell. His head hurts, inside and outside of his dreams. But mostly inside.

 

The memories of the arena opening announcing with loud cannons the first bloodbath between careers is hard to forget, even with Seungcheol’s memory hazy and static as it is, as if it has been purposely pushing the images that made his arms shake and feel his feet losing ground. His heart thumps wildly against his ribcage, memories of the life he forcefully left behind on the form of white noise in his ears.

A lot of things are happening while his mind start to lose ground. Amidst everything though, the sight of Jihoon speeding past fellow careers and managing to retrieve his bag of supplies unscathed is shocking enough to look away. Everything happens so fast that Seungcheol forgets about Jinsook, forgets about his own bag, forgets that Jihoon is too out for his blood, unprepared and merciless just like the others.

 

Maybe that’s his primal mistake. Seungcheol forgets about how Jihoon thinks of him, even after their talk. Jihoon aims and fires. Yet, this isn’t all that the career is about. More than a piece to the games, Jihoon is a person, a person that defends him from a sudden attack in his direction.

It keeps going like this more than Seungcheol would like to admit. Seungcheol relying too much on Jihoon’s strength, pain and suffering loud against their ears and against the scars on their bodies but never enough to take them down.

 

Suddenly, he remembers then that there are other pains he should be worried about.

There’s a sniffle, tears falling in front of his face and _oh_.

 

If he’s unable to make of the middle of it, the universe decides then that Seungcheol isn’t worth of knowing the ending.

 

All the universe allows him to know is that kids who are too kind don’t survive.

 

Seungcheol isn’t an exception. Neither is Jihoon.


	7. Thunder and Sandstorms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under any climatic change, fate will always be there, and so will the red thread. Their conditions aren't subject to the change of events from the outside weather, but actually from the weather of someone's heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: [spends three weeks without properly updating]  
> also me: [dumps in two chapters at once with a delay of less than 72 hours between them]
> 
> you're going too fast baby i don't know what's wrong baby.mp3
> 
> going seventeen? a holy bible full of timeless bops. i don't know/well is A song my dudes will i ever recover? they made my man sing for good and i thank all of the gods above for that.
> 
> can you tell that i'm excited? we're so so so close to the end...  
> i'm kind of relieved knowing that thank goodness this is really ending but it kind of hurts knowing that i didn't throw my best out there for those who keep putting up with my writing and a mess of a story, even if this time i am actually proud of what i wrote.
> 
> although it's specified this has 9 chapters, the 8th will be the "real" final one. should we wrap this nicely together? ♡

_As if the sky is broken_

_The sunlight still seems so far away_

_Today, with this rain and my tears_

_I want to hold onto you even more_

 

_You’re still ignoring me_

_Your head is turned,_

_But the rain falls once again_

 

_It hurts but my heart blooms_

_And I can’t cut it out_

_Don’t break my heart, oh_

_My raindrops are falling_

 

 

 

It’s raining.

 

It’s been for a while and Seungcheol believes the sky is shedding the tears he’s no longer capable of.

 

Although cold, a few weeks, nearing a month after their break up, Seungcheol couldn’t find in him tears to let go of. By no means that meant his heart was healed - for the contrary. The emptiness surrounding his heart can’t be filled no matter how much time passes, only able to repel the pitter-pat of rain falling outside.

His heart has become a silent thunderstorm.

For the time being, Jihoon doesn’t look for him and neither Seungcheol does. The sound of the door closing is the only reminder Seungcheol has that they’re essentially what it suggests: they chose to build the walls and place a door with a rusty lock between them.

 

Every now and then, Seungcheol invites Jeonghan and Jisoo over (rather, they make themselves at home) only to regret allowing their way in. As much as he adores them ever since they were three kids with runny noses in middle school, Seungcheol found himself wishing that they just wouldn’t meddle so much in his (broken) business with Jihoon.

He lost count of all the times Jeonghan glanced up and down at his appearance (more than the usual), stating that he hasn’t been the same, insisting for him to take proper care of himself. He lost count of all the times Jisoo protested in a soft voice that he couldn’t keep going with this, insisting for him to leave the apartment for something other than his job, to breathe fresh air for once.

If he was true to himself, Seungcheol would know that they were right. Even then, it was difficult to fully accept that it was him and him alone.

(Of course, his difficulty laid on the fact that he didn’t want to accept, as obvious as it was. Because Seungcheol knew that he still loved Jihoon and it was something he too knew didn’t want to forget.)

 

Even if he meant to let his head cool down and take proper rest, he wasn’t able to.

More than evident sadness of the raindrops echoing above his roof, Seungcheol found himself bothered with another matter.

 

After consecutive nights of having… exquisite dreams, ever since Jihoon has moved away permanently, Seungcheol found himself having either sleepless or dreamless nights.

 

He couldn’t understand most of what those were about in the first place. Mostly made out of far too palpable delusions, Seungcheol would find himself, not really, an alternate version of himself, stuck every night inside a different reality, far away from his own.

Dreams are supposedly images and thoughts from the waking world transferred to an unconscious state. That would have been fine if Seungcheol’s dreams didn’t all follow a specific pattern that would haunt him once he closed his eyes and his mind drifted away:

 

Seungcheol and Jihoon never ending together.

 

Not only separation would tear them apart. They were taken away from each other under the most tragic circumstances - from misunderstandings to inevitable death.

 

When it first happened, Seungcheol hadn’t paid much attention to it. Surely it had to be a nightmare, a projection of something he had been punishing himself from taking appearance in his subconscient.

But then came the second. And the third. And the fourth.

 

They weren’t just dreams. There surely was something else behind the images flooding his mind with confusion and his heart with pain.

He didn’t know what it was with precision yet, but it surely had to do with his current situation with Jihoon.

 

“Maybe they’re trying to tell you something.”

Jisoo says and Jeonghan agrees on the same instant. One of the nights that both of his friends unceremoniously drag Seungcheol out to the streets, sandwiched between the two of them (“I could run away even with both of you trying to hold me down, you know.” “Like you would.” “You have a point.”) as he listen to them pushing him into their conversation.

 

Looking up to the sky, Seungcheol mutters to himself something that doesn’t go unheard for the pair:

 

“Is fate like… A real thing?”

“If it was, then it wouldn’t put me next to your dumb ass, yet here we are,” Jeonghan shudders and Seungcheol can only suppress the urge of elbowing him as he laughs freely, Jisoo following along.

“I hate you,” Seungcheol sighs, “Both of you.”

“Yeah, yeah, we love you too,” Jeonghan coos, “But to answer your question, I think it does.”

“I still think they’re trying to tell you something,” Jisoo interferes, referring to the dreams, “There must be a reason behind them, and I think they’re telling you to do what you have to.”

“Talk to him,” Jeonghan emphasizes as he nods, “Even if it’s for the last time. At least have a decent conversation with him. Jihoon deserves that much.”

As they move onto another topic, Seungcheol distances himself from the conversation to submerge in his own thoughts.

 

Seungcheol hadn’t meant to drift away from Soonyoung too. It was difficult not to, knowing that Soonyoung would go lengths for Jihoon, standing by his side under any adversity.

Meeting Soonyoung on the takeout line of a coffee shop the morning after his talk with Jeonghan and Jisoo was maybe a trick of fate, as if it was toying with him.

In the short while they haven’t seen each other, Seungcheol managed to notice that the bubbly Soonyoung in his silver blue hair had changed to a sharp pitch black hairstyle, one that made him look mature and responsible. Not that he wasn’t in the first place - at this point in time, who was Seungcheol to say something about being mature - although easily excited, Soonyoung knew how to deal with situations when it came to it, a born leader.

With that said, in a way, Seungcheol shouldn’t have been surprised as he was that Soonyoung greeted him with a smile, walking towards him while balancing his order.

 

“Long time no see,” Soonyoung said, pushing his coffees closer to his body, as a source of heat.

“How have you been?”

“It’s been fine,” he smiled, “Things have been a little crazy with two roommates, but I guess it’s much livelier than before. Yesterday, Seokminnie and Jih--” instantly his smile died, abling himself to stop his blabber before pronouncing a name like a curse, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Seungcheol smiled, although sadly, “It’s okay. It’s good to know that he’s been doing well, too.”

 

A moment of silent washed upon them and Seungcheol wondered during the brief seconds of silence if that should be his take to leave.

“He’s not.”

 

Soonyoung’s sudden outburst got him by surprise, “What do you mean? I thought you said--”

“He’s been trying,” Soonyoung sighs, “But sometimes I hear him crying at late hours at night while drinking something. He’s not doing well. He misses you.”

Seungcheol can’t find in him to answer and their new silence is only cut by the muffled sound of Soonyoung’s phone beeping in his jacket.

Juggling the coffee in his hands comically, Soonyoung manages to retrieve his phone.

“Ah, it’s Seokminnie,” he informs merrily, typing something with his (somewhat) free hand, “I guess I should get going.”

Seungcheol dismisses him with a tiny smile and a wave of hand and as he scans the place looking for a table (that isn’t his usual by the windows), he feels a light tug on his wrist.

“Please don’t give up on him,” Soonyoung says, with so much sadness in his voice Seungcheol feels as if he has been shot through the heart, “He never gave up on you.”

 

With hurried steps, Soonyoung finally leaves the shop, leaving behind a resentful and pensive Seungcheol.

 

 

Much later that day, Seungcheol is preparing himself to sleep, although he can’t feel an ounce of sleep no matter how tired he is, in vain sending his prayers to a sandman from above, to pollute his eyes with sand so he can have a peaceful night for once.

With tired eyes, he traces a finger across the remaining books of his bookshelf, feeling dirt accumulate on the tip as it invades his nails. Although it has been almost a month, he can’t shake the feeling away that the house looks so empty. He wasn’t much of a reader as Jihoon was, only keeping to himself a few books that he enjoyed. His (lazy) habit of reading happened thanks to Jihoon, which resulted in novels, poems and books about fairy tales in his designated room of the shelf. Title by title, he remembers them as a recommendation from Jihoon, save a few exceptions that he found himself on old stores, saving too the delighted gleam in the younger’s eyes finding a book he didn’t know of before.

 

His finger stops moving as it collides with a soft thud on a large wooden box painted white on the upper half of the shelf.

 

It’s a box of memories, now his only. He remembers stuffing in with things he didn’t want Jihoon to take away or throw out as he cleaned the drawers and shelves of the apartment. A few trinkets, photos, receipts of movie tickets - the small things Seungcheol didn’t want to be separated from remained there, away from Jihoon’s hurt gaze.

With delicate motions, Seungcheol settles the box on the bed and sits by its side, removing items one by one and reliving the story behind them as he waited for sleep to arrive.

He can’t fight the fond look that swims through his eyes as he laughs and sighs to himself with all of the memories falling in like feathers in his mind. The photobook that currently is his hands is one of the many the two of them kept to register gentle and important moments over the last years together. Jihoon always said that it was too cheesy, sickenly sweet, even as he added another photo to the bunch.

Wiping away the crystalline tears by the side of his eyes, he makes his way rapidly to the end of the book.

 

On the last page, a mended picture of two long forgotten smiles, even if the picture is a recent one, of one of their last dates. It was a holiday they spent on the beach, with an unfavorable weather behind them. Even so, it hadn’t been capable of demolishing their enthusiasm of having a time off just for the two of them. Even after a small discussion on their way there, everything seemed to be pushed away the same way the waves pushed and pulled the ocean water in their calm rhythm.

Under the grey afternoon sky, they managed to spend a whole afternoon with intertwined hands and talking of topics they didn’t even took track of them. Times like those were rare between them and the lull between them was one to be cherished with all the love they could muster.

 

Deciding not to dwell much on that, Seungcheol means to close the box and put it away on its place on the shelf, yet a detail he wasn’t aware of calls for his attention.

 

A message on the back of the picture is shown, written with shaky, yet delicate handwriting.

 

(The blue ink is dry, although still fresh.)

 

 

_“Cowardly steal all of the stars in the universe if you want to change the past,_

_Bravely swim across the galaxies between us if you want to change the future.”_

 

 

\--

 

 

The seventh dream comes in.

That’s it.

 

It would be hard to describe everything Seungcheol is seeing because he simply can’t see anything.

 

He used to see. He used to see the multicolored refracting lights beaming through the many stained glasses that composed the royal palace. He used to see the beauty of life in an array of shapes and shades glittering in all of their glory. He used to see everything his kingdom, and therefore, the world, had to offer to him and him only.

 

Used to. Final.

 

His ignorance has led him astray, oh so much, and his punishment was feeling the pain of the harsh desert sand hitting his eyes but never being able to find a shelter to hide from the sandstorm.

 

Walking, walking, walking.

In a desert of pure darkness, Seungcheol is now a prince of dead nature and sand castles that crumbles over his feet.

 

The thing he needs to see the most is right in front of him, but Seungcheol isn’t ready yet to see it.

 


	8. End of Our Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All wires are made of threads but not all threads are made of wires. The red thread doesn't need to be made out of a cold metal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at last, the grand finale!! which... isn't... grand... oh well...
> 
> i feel so sorry, i planned so much more development for this and i didn't reach a thing of what i promised to myself that i would. i hope you can find it in you to forgive me. although this isn't what i originally planned, i think it's, somehow, a good fit. i hope you all can be able to, somehow, enjoy it!!
> 
> this is a double update, so i'll fill in all of my apologies and gratitude in a short while!! i hope you all still have the patience to meet me in the end!!
> 
> and also, happy birthday lae!! i hope this still can meet your standarts!! ♡

 

_There’s nothing more I want now_

_I can’t even tell if my heart is beating_

_Rather than forceful conversations with others_

_I’d rather be in awkward silence with you_

 

_So stay, wherever that may be_

_Sometimes, when darkness comes, I’ll be your fire_

_In this world that is a lie the only truth, it’s you_

_This a letter from me to you_

 

 

 

 

The eight dream comes in and it doesn’t matter.

 

There’s just no purpose in those visions anymore. Because they already did everything they could. The sea drowns in his sorrow, the earth softens his fleeting steps, the sun warms up his heart, the wind blows away his tears, the heavens open up above him, the gears run up in his mind and his sight brightens up with utmost clarity.

 

At last, he understands.

 

Jihoon doesn’t say anything aside of a small “yes” in agreement once they decide to meet up a week after Seungcheol’s encounter with Soonyoung. His voice is hoarse against the static the phone call provides, making Seungcheol only long for it even more.

For the first, for the last time, it’s hard to tell. Seungcheol doesn’t know what is written in the stars, what kind of fate awaits them. That doesn’t stop him from tracing his finger up on the sky and writing his own wishes.

He’s no author, but he gives in the small traces of poetry he knows to write his own destiny.

 

“Hi,” he says, breathlessly, even if his walking has been a peaceful one.

 

Jihoon sends a strained smile from where he’s seated, fingers dancing around the pages of an old book, with a red hard cover and its title printed in golden letters.

It’s a book that Seungcheol recognizes as being the first Jihoon ever told him about, a story about a man who traveled in time, who went through multiple lives to find his loved one. He remembers Jihoon looking shy, admitting with a little difficulty that he enjoyed things like that, even if they were a little too cheesy for his liking.

 

All of that reminds Seungcheol of their first meeting.

 

Back to when they were still in college, dreams trapped in a bottle, ready to burst with knowledge. Sometimes, though, knowledge isn’t what matters the most. Rather than thinking with the mind, thinking with the heart can soothe out the pressure exerted in said bottle.

 

Seungcheol is looking for a way to take away the lingering doubts in his mind strolling on the library, eyeing the worn out books with a bored expression when redirect themselves away from the shelves and titles and he first sees him.

It’s nothing more than a thought - that the student reading quietly under the moonlight trespassing through the window is really mesmerizing and he doesn’t remember ever seeing him before, although he’s been friends with so many people over the past year.

Much, much later Seungcheol would learn that his name was Lee Jihoon, he would become the shortest person in the soon-to-be their group of friends and that he would be inside-out the most wonderful person he’d ever meet.

He would find out that Jihoon likes to read, likes to compose and that he studies music. He would find out that he’s a little introverted, but he enjoys the company of others around him, and has a sense of humor like no other. He would find out that he’s determined and hardworking, the kind of fierceness and passion hidden behind his quiet yet fiery eyes.

 

Seungcheol would find out that Jihoon has so much love to give and that he’s willing to love him until the end of the time if he so wishes.

That and so much more, he would find out much later.

 

One glance doesn’t say much about two people, yet one glance is enough for the universe decide its course among the stars.

 

“You wanted to talk,” Jihoon reminds him plainly as Seungcheol shakes away from his daydream and sits down by his side.

 

Unlike the last time they met, Jihoon doesn’t shift away from the touch. His features are calm, difficult to read his thoughts like it always have been. That fact doesn’t bother Seungcheol though.

 

“I did,” he says and he doesn’t think he’s fully ready to say it all now that it’s come to the time, the words he’s been thinking of all week dead on his throat.

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how I truly felt.”

 

He can see Jihoon’s expression widen for a brief second, before he lowers his head, nodding for Seungcheol to continue. Even with his neutral demeanour, he can see enough to tell that his hands are shaking slightly, perhaps in anticipation.

 

“I guess I didn’t know then,” he begins and Jihoon nods, eyes fully focused, “How much you meant to me. They say you just get to know how something matters to you the moment you lose them. And it’s not-- it’s not that you didn’t matter. I just didn’t know how much I loved you until we fell apart.”

 

His eyes are beginning to water and his voice is wavering, but that doesn’t stop the words from flowing, a suffocating need to tell, as if his chest and throat could combust and burst at any moment.

 

“And it hurt so much, because I was too used to being with you that I didn’t know how difficult it was not being with you. I took us for granted and I didn’t do anything when we began to back away from each other,” there’s a laugh devoid of humor as he sniffles, trying to mend in his sentences, “I don’t want to be away from you ever again. I already knew that before but now I’m just - I’m sure of it. I love you.”

There’s a moment of silence and Jihoon’s head is still hanging low. If he leans close, he can see the tears falling from his eyes, pooling one by one as they darken his jeans in small circles. Seungcheol stays there, waiting and he thinks briefly, he’s never been good with the concept of time. Right now seems a good one to learn about it.

 

“I…” Seungcheol is startled by the sound of Jihoon’s voice, feeling too close and too distant at the same time, “You’re not the only one at fault. I think I told you that before. I didn’t do anything either when we began to drift away. I was upset, that we were like this, but I didn’t know how to fix it. You know that I’m not good with words. But then, things were just too much and I…”

 

Seungcheol rarely saw Jihoon crying. Just like himself, Jihoon hated to cry. Just like himself, Jihoon was afraid of letting his walls down. He understood how much pain he went through and no matter how sorry he was, he knew that it wouldn’t completely heal all of the thoughts.

  
“Stop, I just said that the fault isn’t completely yours,” he laughs, hitting his arm slightly and Seungcheol can’t help but smile too, even if his face is all tears, a direct mirror of Jihoon’s, “What I want to tell you too is. There was so much going on and I never really took the time to properly talk to you. We’re two fools, right? Dancing around each other but never with each other. I left you without any good explanation and I’m really sorry for that. Just know that I… I really care about you. It’s just... so hard to say that sometimes. That I love you too.”

 

The new silence that installs between them, for the first time in so long, isn’t uncomfortable. It’s just a silence and with the corner of his eyes he can see Jihoon smiling quietly to himself. It’s the kind of sensation that can be described with many words - relief, happiness and above all, unconditional love.

 

The universe seems to release the breath it has been holding.

 

“Do you think…” Seungcheol’s voice is still wavering, yet his words sound easier, “Do you think we can go back?”

“I think,” Jihoon smiles with a breathy laugh, quietly reaching for Seungcheol’s hand, “We can go to the beginning. All over again.”

Finally intertwining their hands, Seungcheol smiles, “That’d be good.”

 

The thread shortens its distance, renovated, and they’re getting closer, closer than ever before.

 

At the end of Seungcheol’s bridge, for once, there’s Jihoon. At the end of Jihoon’s bridge, for once, there’s Seungcheol.

 

 

The connection between them is still red, but they no longer feel like wires.


	9. Special Promises (Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The red thread isn't one sided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M DONE!!
> 
> this is just a short something to wrap up everything until now. i want to thank everyone that followed me through this messy journey and i hope, with all of my heart, that even through frustration, you could enjoy it as much as i did. although this was meant to be only a vent fic, it became so much more than that. i don't think i was able to write everything i wanted to, there was a LOT lacking, but i still wish that you all could like it.
> 
> thank you most of all to miro, clara, vivi and andreia that still believe i can write shit even when i know i don't. thank you to people from twitter who came to support me through this: ny, lae, shien, tih, anj, jeje and clare
> 
> fun facts: every song from the chapters is from different ggroups, please support my ladies!! and there's a little something spelled if you take a closer look to the titles!!
> 
> with that, i hope you enjoy it!! thank you all!! ♡

_We are one in the end, somehow in someway_

_I want it to be the first and the last_

_I cannot be complete like a half_

_We full each other up all the way_

 

_Tell me, is this the first time?_

_Have you fallen for me as much as I have fallen for you?_

_I want to know everything_

_If my heart has grown deeper than yours like a fool_

 

 

 

 

The ninth and final dream is Jihoon’s first and last - just like Seungcheol.

 

Everything is bright.

 

It’s a big living room, with no ceiling. The walls are white, decorated with different golden and glittery shapes - _too bright_ \- and Jihoon silently wonders if a little color wouldn’t have been better. All the light he needs - not that he needed it in the first place, everything is just a matter of aesthetics - is right above him. If he squints just so, he might say the universe doesn’t need too many stars when Seungcheol is staring at him like that, with his eyes emitting bright and warmness all the way the horizon extends.

 

“You’re supposed to get going,” Jihoon says in a monotone voice, not giving in what he really means to say, even if he’s a little too sure Seungcheol heard the crack of his voice near the end of his sentence.

“Just a little longer.”

 

A sigh, “You’re too much sometimes.”

“I’m going to miss you,” he says suddenly and Jihoon is so used to Seungcheol beating around the bush between them that his surprised eyes widen more than they should for his liking.

 

“Don’t be like that,” Jihoon rolls away in his chair, redirecting his gaze from the golden telescope so he can take a closer look to Seungcheol’s painful expression.

 

Everything was peaceful in Jihoon’s life. He did his duties all too well - observing the stars, submitting reports about the rotations in the universe and all of that. Saying that he was a god was too daring, too pompous of him. All he did was making sure the universe ran its course like it should, a mere observer under the endless starry nights.

Seungcheol was a different matter. He was something alike to Jihoon in their professional aspect. The difference lied that he took care of another setting of the universe, an emotional one. Making sure the stars and the planets wouldn’t interfere in the way of earnest feelings, tying colored threads around invisible fingers all over the space.

 

Maybe it was too slow, the way they fell for each other. Maybe it was too fast, the way they only had eyes for each other and let the universe move freely.

It simply couldn’t stay that way, even if they knew it.

 

“This life may end in tragedy, but I will make sure someday we’ll make a happy ending from one of them,” Seungcheol says, adjusting a red thread on his pinky finger, “Just trust me and don’t give up.”

 

Jihoon means to snort, but the sincerity in Seungcheol’s eyes is too much for him to make fun of. Red threads, unlike the others, had a special meaning behind them.

He remembers briefly of Seungcheol stating how the red threads were powerful, to be used in very rare circumstances, only when the universe decided that a love was worth of lasting for an eternity. He never truly understood the complete meaning, but he understood that made Seungcheol happy. With a little of color in his cheeks, he shook away the thought that if it mattered so much to Seungcheol, then it was only right for it to matter for him too.

 

“Can you promise me that?”

“I can and I will,” Seungcheol smiles proudly, wiping away the tears from the corner of Jihoon’s eyes.

 

The land is beginning to crumble under their feet and the sky is tearing apart right in front of them, yet Jihoon isn’t afraid. It’s hard to believe a promise like that - he doesn’t even know if they’ll have next lifetimes, let alone together. Something about Seungcheol’s confidence though, makes him completely sure that it will be just fine.

He’s willing to wait for that.

 

“Promise.”

 

 

\--

 

 

“I was thinking.”

 

Unlike Seungcheol - there’s an imaginative laughter at the end of that phrase - Jihoon is always thinking. Even for the smallest things, Jihoon always thinks first, mostly because for him there’s no such thing as “small things”. Everything holds an importance, as insignificant as they might sound.

 

“Yeah?” Seungcheol hums sleepily from his spot on the bed.

 

 _“Just now I had a dream about you, and it felt so real I got a little scared,”_ isn’t exactly what he means to say, although the words are there, on the tip of his tongue. Even if the rain outside hasn’t subsided for the past weeks, the rain between them is long gone. The city lights are blurry against the window and ah, Jihoon missed the view more than he thought he ever would.

The clock appoints that he should have been asleep now - the real world never stops. Even then, Jihoon can only look away, eyes falling in on another sight he missed more than he thought he ever would.

 

“Look here,” he nudges Seungcheol with his elbow, who immediately turns his attention to him with an affectionate smile, only to become alarmed the second after.

“Were you crying?” Seungcheol says, cupping Jihoon’s face as he examines him with worry, shedding the tears away with his thumb, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” he curls his fingers with the bed sheets, lacing his other hand with Seungcheol’s, “Just listen to me now.”

 

Visibly calming down, Seungcheol nods and stares at him curiously, brows furrowed in a way Jihoon thinks it’s cute, but wouldn’t admit outloud without being in a teasing mood. He takes his time to speak, only staring at Seungcheol, drowning in his features.

The past months have been harsh. It was difficult for him to get separated from Seungcheol. Even if his mind told him that things would get better once he truly cut ties between them, they never did. He missed the warm eyes that would find his own, he missed the loud laughter that would resonate along with his.

Admitting that he missed Seungcheol’s company wasn’t stating a sense of dependence. If there was something Jihoon had learnt on the time they were away of each other, it was that he didn’t depend of Seungcheol. He could live without him, he simply didn’t want to.

Seungcheol never completed Jihoon and vice-versa. One only complemented the happiness the other knew they had in them.

Perhaps, that’s what was the most beautiful thing about them. In the end, they were connected in a way that couldn’t fall apart, because...

 

“Do you think it’s weird if I say that... I think we were meant for each other?”

 

Seungcheol smiles, more out of happiness than relief, brighter than the stars that are beginning to rise up into the darkening veil of the sky, eyes swelling with utmost happiness - it’s a sight like no other.

 

“But we are,” there’s a laugh, lively like never before, “After all…”

 

For a brief second, Jihoon can see it: the red wire connecting them turning into a thread of wool - soft the touch, so incredibly warm, weightless on his finger, extending to the short distance of the two of them.

 

 

Seungcheol gently kisses the knot of the thread tied to his finger, “You’re my soulmate.”


End file.
